


The Veiled Vestiges

by NeatStuff



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts, Multi, Smart Harry Potter, Time Travel, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-10-11 20:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 118,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeatStuff/pseuds/NeatStuff
Summary: AU. A slight deviation in the plans. A ripple broadening to destroy his whole world. A secret out in the open and fire rained from the sky. A world to save, an oath to keep. He won't let them down. What would Harry do to save them all? Why-do what he always does, of course. Defy the odds, those pesky old gods, their rules and get back HOME. Time-Travel! Believably-Powerful Harry! Smart Harry! Politically Perspicacious Harry! And some more twists and turns along the way. Harry Multi!





	1. What was…and what will be

**Author's Note:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
_**_Disclaimer_** \- This is a work of purely speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here. The characters involved are the intellectual property of their respective authors except for the ones that are listed as an OC, which are mine._  
_
> 
> _  
_**_Author's Notes_** \- I know this has been done before. About a hundred times. But I have tried to make it a little different. Give it about three-four chapters and you will see that it is unlike what you have read before, at least for this particular idea. The realism I have tried to show is unlike canon but still revolves around the magical world that we all love so much. This chapter will double as the prologue. And therefore, when you read it, you will have many questions. There will be more than a few things that will not make sense. I will even go as far as saying that they would seem illogical. But trust me, EVERYTHING will make sense in the later chapter(s). Every single thing will be explained. As this is an AU, I have not forgotten anything or gotten anything wrong with what I have written. It's simply different than how some elements have been shown in canon. With that said, Enjoy the chapter._  
_  
**_A/N_**__ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?__
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

-x-x-x-x-x-

Burning…It had a distinct feel to it than anything he had ever felt before. The way his flesh sizzled and melted right before his eyes. The smell of it...his screams...his very life being lifted out of his body. He could feel every second of it. Could see it as if he was an outsider, watching his body being scorched asunder. It was almost easy at this point, despite the pain involved, to let go. The end would either bring him to the judgement of his cruel existence or would take him towards his only chance at redemption. A sixty-forty gamble at most. One he was more than willing to make. He had known as much before going through with the insane and seemingly masochistic idea that had been the result of years of struggle. A last-ditch effort, as it were. Something only someone of his _blood_ could carry through. Life had been painful enough; his death had no right to be anything but. Had he been consciously aware of his musings, he would have shaken his head in mild amusement.

As it was, the pain was a marvellous distraction. And a reminder. A reminder that he had failed in his duty and left the fate of his world, his people, on mere chance.

A circulatory logic if there ever was one. The fate of the world, dependent on his own.

A sudden pressure came from above as he felt his essence being ripped from his body and he knew. It had to be done now.

His hand came forth and threw his boiling blood on to the runes carved on the stone below. They came alight with a fiery radiance, glowing ominously as the life-brew powered his last hope. A raspy breath left his lips and Harry James Potter spoke his last words in the burning world beneath.

"**Redivivus Ignis Sacer".**

-x-x-x-x-x-

He had somewhat expected what came next. Had even been hoping for it in fact.

His mistakes laid bare. Naked.

Years worth of them.

All for him to see how his actions and _i__nactions_ had ruined the lives of millions. How his stupidity and blind faith had led to the victory of his _prophesied_ nemesis and so much more.

A multitude of white misty streams travelled past his forlornly buoyant body, showing him anything and everything that had carried any symbolic meaning in his life. And some he himself branded as his most treasured…his most feared.

The naivety of a child. Friendless. Alone. The foolish bravery of a denigrated twelve-year-old. The clinging hope of an orphan. The trials of an inequitably botched tournament. The tortures of the wicked. The year of respite. And then, the final frontier. Their undoing. The words of a fickle friend. Their secret out in the open.

This had been the turning point. And it had been something he was hoping he could avoid seeing. But it seemed the control required was just as much of a bitch to achieve here as it was in real life.

And so, he saw it all.

The frequent attacks on the burrow. Arthur and Charlie's deaths as they fought with the invaders in their home, valiantly holding on just long enough to give their family a chance to get away. A recently repaired burrow disintegrating into ashes. Molly Weasley's attempts to keep everyone alive. The arrival of Ron with a Horcrux around his neck. The divulgence of their secret. The lost hope in the eyes of the Weasley matriarch. A deal with the devil to keep safe what she treasured the most.

Family.

The wandering of two friends. Years of struggle. Lives snatched by the reality of war. Sacrifices in the name of survival. Love lost and brought back. The end of everything. A world of endless darkness.

He gritted his teeth as the pain became near impossible to bear. Crying out, he firmly closed his eyes and waited for the oblivion. A soft melody reached his ears even as the sounds of his life-past blew against his ears like the gentle gusts of wind.

"…_blessed be this union which brings love together. Joining of hearts, minds and souls. A journey of love, friendship and respect. A hearth to call home. A love to call eternal. Do you take…_"

"AHHHHHHHH…"

"…_to be companions throughout life and beyond, to be the guides and partners in everything so forth?_"

"ARGHHHHHH…"

"…_I do._"

"I do."

The words escaped his lips as soon as he realised what the vision had been about. Without warning, every single thing in his periphery turned bleached white, peevishly so. A pause and he felt the floor vanish. He could feel himself falling, could feel the gravity taking hold of his body and delivering it to its ultimate conclusion. He could see the floor below. His end. The concrete seemed far more intimidating at this height. As the floor reached near, the last of the voices he heard brought an unknown sense of peace with its final deliverance. A soft voice that soothed all his wounds.

"…_Always._"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey was as exciting a place as an art museum for an engineer. It was a _normal_ suburb consisting of _normal_ people with their _normal_ jobs who did their _normal_ everyday things. It was so mind-numbingly mundane that even a change in the maildrop schedule required a meeting of the residential association.

The residents of this monotonous and depressingly dull conurbation had no clue that this place was about to become the nexus of a magical event that would have boggled the mind of every magical researcher in the world, had the surge produced left any such detection devices in the area working. As it was, not a single person was aware that their future had just been completely and irrevocably changed.

A six-year-old Harry Potter suddenly awoke with his mouth open in a silent scream. His green-eyes darted every which way in confusion. He would have cried out in his desperation for the air to fill lungs had he been aware that he was not breathing. Muted seconds passed and finally, a wheezing cough erupted from his throat and he finally sucked a desperate breath. Despite the struggle, despite all the pain, instincts ingrained in him by the circumstances of his living made him choke on his scream. The sensation of falling came and he grabbed the edges of his small cot. As soon as he felt the falling sensation subside, a shaky sigh left his lips. It was possible that it was just an effect from the _merge_ that had occurred, not that he was aware of what was happening to him at this point.

And just as abruptly it had begun, it was over. He heaved a few deep breaths. Taking a few moments to calm his rapidly beating heart, he tried to focus his thoughts.

He was not dead. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, could feel the warmth of his body. Which meant only one thing. Success. The ritual had worked. Good. Fawkes would be proud. Nothing would have been possible without him. The little bugger had done more for him than most in the world he had left behind. A little wetness came to his eyes and he gave himself some time to collect his bearings. He had fought his way out of the cesspool that had been the reign of most foul evil in existence. He had bled for this. He had lost family for this. He had jarred his humanity for this. And he was alive. Breathing. Successful. Wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeves, he shook his head intending to bring his thoughts together. Now was not the time to break down. He could bawl his eyes out later when he knew that he was safe. And alone.

"What first?" He whispered softly.

"Taking stock. Yeah."

'_I am in the cupboard. Headache…Mild. Probably fractured ribs. A little constricted throat. Everything else seems fine. Assuming it worked as I planned, it should be near enough to Tinne Holly lunar aver. So, August. Yeah... Judging by my size, around six, seven at most. I am smaller than I remember. Fuck. Didn't think it would matter this much. It would be difficult to...to...No…Not the time. Need to find a way out of here first!'_

With a soft click, the door swung forward a bit.

He had wondered if he would be able to muster enough strength to do the simplest of things required to reach his initial goals back when he had been planning his possibly last adventure. He didn't have a definitive answer as to _when_ he might be _arriving_ and thus it would have been difficult to account for the possible injuries that might be ailing from considering how his relatives liked to pass their leisurely hours.

'_Shouldn't look a gifted horse in the mouth, I suppose.'_

Next obstacle came in the form of the twice layered protections covering the house. Any mid to high range magical discharge would be recorded and he would have either ministry or the _meddler_ on his case. And so, apparition was out. So was anything that could actually get him out without a trace. And that left just one thing.

'_Right. Here's to you Gred, Forge.'_

A quick search had a paper clip in his hands and a twist had it exactly in the shape to pick the lock. Another to hold the partition within. All it required was a nifty trick that he had learned, a little twist a little bend and…

'**_click_**_'_.

'_There you go. Now, to get clear of the wards.'_

A little jog with the crisp cool air blowing in his face and he was quite a ways away from Privet Drive and on the pavement of Magnolia Crescent. It was as good a place as any considering he could not feel the wards pressing on him anymore. A twist and a resounding crack were heard as he left for his next appointment.

-x-x-x-x-x-

He arrived near the woods of Lakenshire, a northern part of Britain which was almost in its entirety, surrounded by deep forests and ponds. A perfect spot for someone wishing to live his life in seclusion or at least appearing as such.

A little research and a bloody _interview _with one of the parties involved in making the place habitable after the _removal _of the original owners had brought up the mention of this location. Harry had no idea of the veracity of the answers he had gotten, nor had he been able to find any other way to acquire the necessary things at the time of his arrival. But now that he was here, when he was at his most vulnerable, with no wand, his smaller stature and a weaker body, he couldn't _not_ take a chance to equip himself with some much-needed tools.

And it meant going inside the insidious looking cabin which was probably warded to hell and back. Well, the hosts were never known to be a welcoming bunch.

Contrary to popular belief, the Unspeakables of the Magical Community, the original owners of the place he was hoping to ransack, were not entirely devoted to magical research. It was a major part of their duties, that was true and it _had been _the original reasoning behind their formation. However, with the times past and the growing need for some highly qualified personnel for tasks that required to maintain the security of the Magical Relm it was deemed appropriate for them to _branch out. _Such branching out usually involved undertaking missions where either the realm of Magical Britain or the whole wizarding community were at risk.

According to what he had been able to find, little as it had been, on the night of his little stint in the Department of Mysteries, Voldemort himself had gotten rid of most of the Senior Unspeakables who had been ambushed by him and his inner circle. Frightening, the difference between them and the Dark Lord had been, he'd been told. They, who were essentially the Hit-Wizards, had succumbed to the powerhouse that was Voldemort. He hadn't known that. None of the others had either. Not until Rabastan Lestrange had been captured in a raid on the compound where he had been enjoying his _down-time_ in the _company_ of some of the muggleborn witches.

Images of intoxicated and violently raped women flashed in his mind as the memories reminded him of that little tidbit. He had been forced to end their misery. And even after all the years, all the sleepless nights, a face still stood apart. Little Natalie Dormer had just been thirteen. Mumbling and asking for something only she could understand. Lost in her own mind. Forever.

With a forcible effort, he brought his mind back to the task at hand. The cabin. It was visible at the far end of the woods. A little hike had him near the perimeter of the property. He waited as he felt some pressure buildup near the area. Looking around for the edge of the protective dome that were the wards of the place, he spotted a series of runes overlaying some of the previous indentures. A while passed as he flared his senses towards the encampment to look for any other traps. His eyes widened slightly as he considered what he had discovered.

It was always a wonder to him that in spite of having geniuses like Nicolas Flamel, Picardy Emerett, Marlow Forfang and even the meddler himself, there were such heedless witches and wizards in their world that there was no point in even asking how Noseless was able to conquer it all in such a short amount of time. To think they would apply measures as drastic as to invert a person inside out in case of possible burglary or hostile entry but to miss a simple solution such as a relatively low magical presence and blood of a magical was the height of ignorance. They were the Unspeakables! They were supposed to be the ones who caught things that others usually missed! Anyone with the knowledge of the place could have sent an elf to set up an ambush or even to steal something worthwhile. And this was the secret society that was supposed to keep the citizens safe?

Pitiful.

He strolled forward without much apprehension. He knew his interpretation of the warding scheme had been correct even as he crossed the first runic array that had been embedded into the stone pathway leading towards the cabin. A swift picking of the lock had him inside the cabin. Now, to gather the necessary items.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was still dark when he reappeared near Privet Drive. His last possible return to the hated place he had to call home. Well…just for a little while longer. But it wasn't the thing that he was most anxious about. His soon to be executed plan was the thing that had his nerves on the edge. It had the capacity to go horribly wrong or incredibly well. It all depended on the reactions of the few people who were no doubt going to be involved. He was fairly certain about some of them. But there were some he knew nothing about to even begin to understand how they would react to a situation as unstable as it was, no doubt, going to become. It was one thing to calculate the possibilities and quite another to make decisions based on the reactions that others _might_ have. He mentally tipped his hat envisioning the aggravating face of the meddler. No matter his own grievances with the man, he could not deny the intelligence that had held them all in a tight grip when he had been a boy.

He eyed the wand in his hand, a recent acquire during the visit to the Unspeakables safe-house, rolling it between his fingers just to familiarise it with his magic. It was about thirteen inches, springy and ebony. He hadn't a clue what the cores were. But it had been one of the only ones to respond even close to a third of the feeling that his old one had. Another advantage was that along with being untraceable it had a discharge dampening array carved on it. He could perform spells requiring low to mid-range power and it wouldn't show even a little blip on ministry's monitoring devices. It was enough until he got his hands on a better one and certainly enough to do what he had planned to do now.

'**_Caveatis Porcina.'_**

A muttered spell and his presence was erased from any sensing entities nearby.

He walked forward resolutely. No matter what happened next, there was no backing out now. Not when most everything depended on these scant few minutes. A quick wave of the wand and the door opened. He entered almost silently, knowing the person inside was not in any possible way a danger to him even if they got up hearing the slight sounds he was making. Then he remembered..._ the cats!_ They were laying about every which way. Some were eyeing him dangerously. Some were growling a little as they inched near his position. He knew some of them were more intelligent than the others, being Half-Kneazle had given them some added acumen. Add to that the basic animal senses and there was no doubt in his mind that they knew someone was present in their mistresses home who shouldn't be.

_'A precautionary measure then.'_

_'**Somnus Fluctum.'**_

A wave of magic spread through the room as the felines suddenly fell into a deep slumber. Satisfied, he moved onto his next quarry. She looked quaint in her sophisticated night robes and that same stern expression as he remembered. It was such a shame that the woman was an utter bitch. He didn't even feel a little hesitation as he aimed the wand at her head and cast.

A memory modification spell was something that left a whole lot of clues for people to find. Hence, the justification for the existence of people who specialised in memory reversal even if the reversal was limited to a degree. From the various mind-healers to expert legilimencers, anyone could find the discrepancies within the memories if they had been tampered with. But there _was_ a way to cheat them, so to speak. Legilimency was the art of basically deep diving in the person's psyche or mind and manipulating events from within. But what many did not understand was that for a person who was intimately familiar with the workings of the mind, it was very much possible to actually **create** memories from within rather than just changing the existing ones. It was virtually undetectable. The human subconscious was an amazing thing. It filled the holes within the memories so long as the person _believed_ it to be true, and that is where the work of a legilimencer came into effect. To make the events seem true.

Harry was one of the very few people who knew of the possibility and possibly the only one who could actually perform such a complex series of manoeuvres inside a person's mind. When you had a dark lord lurking in your brain for most years of your life, the mind arts suddenly becomes an essential skill to have. When he had first started delving into the basics of magics involving the mind, he had been certain that such a thing, if not impossible was certainly immensely challenging. He had been right of course. But underneath that valid excuse had been the real reason for his reluctance. The botched attempt at learning Occlumency at the hands of his potions professor had been the trigger. It had jarred something loose. The voices, the horrific scenes that his psyche conjured along with the continuous connection with the Dark Lord had been enough to make him think twice about touching anything having to do with it.

That reluctance, that fear had ended when it became crucial for them to get an edge during the war. His enemies had had the audacity to snatch **_her_** from him. He had surrendered then. Surrendered himself to whatever that was writhing within him. He had delved into the connection between him and the monster and had come through. After what had felt like years, he had gained the intelligence required to get her back. Even better had been the incapacitance of the dark lord. The planned raid had been successful without any loss of life on their end. And most importantly, they had gotten **_her_** back. **He** had got _her_ back.

Since then he had never looked back. He had learnt anything and everything that had to do with the mind arts. He had performed numerous deep dives on the captured death eaters. Seen what they had done. Felt their crimes run through him as he had been present there himself. Their feelings, the desperation of the acts, the satisfaction derived from the blood of their victims. He had swum through the thick black sludge that was the psyche of their enemies all the while keeping himself whole.

Until he couldn't. Until they had broken through and painted him black. Even then he had kept to his morals. Lived as _she_ would have wanted him to. Struggled and sacrificed till the end.

A light snore from the woman below brought him back to the present.

"**Legilimens.**"

Knowing the time constraint, he dove in to perform the planned series of actions required to do the necessary. It was after another half hour when he came out with a grunt and stumbled backwards into the wall. No matter how little the power requirement had been with his target sleeping, the concentration needed to manoeuvre elements had been phenomenal. And a wand as mismatched as this one, it had taken a lot of out him. Taking a deep breath, he centred himself. A look at the clock showed a quarter to two. Only one other thing could be accomplished tonight.

Casting another look around and changing the surroundings in accordance with the forged outcome, he left the house.

A crack and he was off to his last destination for the night.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry stumbled as he arrived on the cobblestone steps of an alley near the less favoured pub in the only all-wizarding village in Britain, Hogsmeade. This part of the plan had been something that required quite a bit of luck. He knew the necessity of a good fortune in a mission. No matter the amount contingencies anyone planned for, no matter the calculations involved, the stimulations performed, a leap of faith was always required at the end.

With a hesitant step, he walked forward towards the entrance to the Hogshead. It was little known that while the two siblings did not see eye to eye, the pub did have a room for the elder brother. A room from which he could be seen exiting from after an odd weekend at least once in a couple of months.

In a world where his target was revered as one of the most powerful warlocks of modern times, doing what he was about to do was something even the most proficient and suicidal criminals would wash their hands off from. Hence the reason for favouring the plan. Just one spell, one slight move of wrist…**'Homenum Revelio'**… and he was sure. It certainly was his _lucky_ night.

Just a single magical signature.

In the end, it went off without a hitch. In his hand, he had the one thing that held the key for getting rid of every single chain that had tethered him to the insanely optimistic ideas of the most despicable manipulator of his life. A single hair of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The morning came sooner than expected. Even with being used to waking up at a smallest of warnings, more often of the rising sun, he stepped out of his cupboard and walked towards the kitchen. He was fortunate, that it was a Sunday. It would give him plenty of time to rest his aching limbs and a marching headache while he ate breakfast. He chuckled as the thought crossed his mind. It would be the first time in either of his lives that he was getting to eat his fill at this table. Well, it would be the last time too.

A while passed as he ate the fried eggs and some toast to fill his empty stomach. A sound of feet coming down the stairs made him look upwards. Watching the enlarged tub and a bony stick that were his Uncle Vernon Dursley and his Aunt Petunia, he couldn't help but snort. To think they had been the ones he had feared the most at some point in his life. To him, as he was now, it was simply unimaginable. Another set of feet came tumbling down as a seven-year-old Dudley Dursley joined the foray.

Vernon Dursley having indulged himself in more than a bit of brandy at the dinner party last night was not in the best of moods as he came down for his breakfast. Seeing the freak sitting down on the table helping himself to his _hard-earned _food was certainly not something Vernon had been expecting as a start for his Sunday. He was about to give the boy a rightly deserved thumping when he felt his body freeze.

Harry had seen his uncle move towards him from the corner of his eyes and knew that the discussion would have to take place after he took care of their little attitude problem. An agile swish and a boldly pronounced, **"Primo Obsideo"**, was all it took to bind the trio with magical bindings and another swish delivered them onto the waiting couch.

"Now that that's settled, we can get along with the next part of today's proceedings. Yeah?…Alright. Let's get the basics out of the way first. Yes, I know I am a wizard. Yes, I know who my parents were and how they died. Yes, I know how to do magic and yes, this is a wand. I imagine you know quite a bit about them, don't you Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia looked horrified at her nephew as he calmly explained what she and her husband had been hoping to keep secret for the rest of his freakish life. She could even see a slight smile tugging at the end of his lips. When he directed the question at her she couldn't help but ask how he could have known such a closely guarded secret. In accordance with her thoughts, she opened her mouth to speak.

"H…How do…?"

"How do I know this? Yes, I imagine it must be bothering you quite a bit not being able to understand how I could have gotten such knowledge. Well, it doesn't really matter now, does it? It's not like you are going to remember any of this in a little while."

Vernon had been stunned silent when the little freak started waving the little stick. It hadn't been a shock to see what he was doing, he had always known the boy was unnatural, but it had made him pause. To see him threaten his wife was where it reached his limit. Anger surged through him again and his usual angry visage showed hoping to be enough to cower the freak into submission.

"You dare threaten us boy. You unnatural spawn of freaks. You think these tricks are going to be enough to…"

The rest of what he was going to say was lost as Vernon suddenly found himself knocked out facing the ceiling with his mouth open. A similar thing happened to the little Dudley.

"Don't fret. They've just been knocked out. Still breathing see." he said, pointing the end of his wand to their throat. "Got anything else to say? No?…Good. Now, as I was going to say, we need to change the décor around here. And for that, I need you and your family to get away for a little while. Heh…Who am I kidding? Actually, I want you guys to go poof. Forever."

Thinking of the worst, Petunia started waling while looking at her husband and son. Her shrieking wails would have been enough to rouse the whole neighbourhood had Harry not had the foresight to apply the silencing wards around the living room.

"Don't worry Aunt Petunia. I am not talking about offing you all. Certainly not. Believe me, I want to. I really do. But, if I do kill you now, then there would be nothing that would set me apart from those I am soon going to hunt. Anyways, I could have just snuck into your rooms earlier and done what I am planning on doing now and trust me, it would have been easier, on both of us. A sleeping mind is something I specialise in, you see. But I wanted to look into your eyes when I told you this…I do not fear you. I certainly don't fear that tub of lard you call your husband. What you made me go through was something that will always be a part of me, for good or ill. And for that, I will always remember you. Though I believe your sister would be disappointed in you, Petunia. You had every opportunity to treat me right. Every opportunity to show me the same love and the same compassion that you showed your son. You know, I remember reading a letter from her addressed to a friend. She had written that she loved you still. And it was well after you had married this pig and had called her a whore and driven her out of your front porch. She had faith in you even when you were at your worst. A faith spent foolishly, I think. So, just to let you know of your current fate and that of your family, I will be going away for a little while. In that time, you can talk to your son and decide what you wish to do for the rest of your life. The Dursleys will be moving far away today."

"Wha…What?" Petunia asked looking fearfully at her nephew.

Harry didn't answer as he turned towards the door. As he exited the room, he noticed his shaking hand. It had taken a lot of effort to get that out of his chest. He had moved on quite a few years ago, but to actually face his tormentors… It had required a different kind of strength. He hadn't expected it to affect him this much. He wiped a few tears leaking at the edge of his eyes and with nary a thought to the crying woman at his back, disapparated.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hey, Jameson! …Jameson! …Hey! Hold up, mate."

"Rufus? What are you doing here this early? Didn't they change your shift back to weekdays?"

"Nah! Said they would. Nothing came of it though. Anyways, got a moment? I have to check something with yah."

"Sure."

"Old Crouch was here last evening, you know? Been asking about the pixie incident, he was. I told him that you were on a holiday that week. Said Peterson was the one that was on that time. The bastard still hasn't paid me money from the last stake we had. He sure would like the new shift old crouch sets him up with, wouldn't he?"

"Hah! He sure would mate. He sure would. Thanks for saving my arse, Rufus. I owe you one."

"No worries mate. And listen…Uh…speaking of owing, I was wondering if yah could get me something. It ain't much mind yah. It's just… it's me little one you see. She's quite taken with Dumbledore she is. I was wondering… well, I was wondering if yah can get him to sign something for her. As a present, ya know. Her big day is coming soon."

"Hahaha… yeah. I suppose I can manage that. Not for a while though, Rufus, sorry. He's got some business with them ICW folks coming up. He's been really busy up at Hogwarts for most of the day since yesterday. He likes to spend most of his time there, you know. I think today will be the same as well. At least he hasn't called the office yet saying he'd be coming."

"Oh…Alright then. Can ya just get it to me before next month? Her mum's setting up a surprise party then."

"Sure. Take care, Rufus."

"I will mate. You too. Don't let me see you hereafter eleven though, Sheila will be pissed won't she."

"Yeah. She would."

_Rufus_ watched as _his_ mate walked around the corner before he departed for the nearest broom cupboard. It had taken almost forty-five minutes to get to the floor without alerting anybody. And then the waiting. It had been difficult enough to find a person working at the Chief Warlock's office but to wait another ten minutes for the only available person to show up had been nerve-racking. A few moments later, Harry Potter stood near the unconscious form of the real and very much naked Rufus Hargreave.

He had just one dose of Polyjuice left and only a single shot at his target. It needed to be done quickly and with no static what-so-ever. Dropping the near-white hair in the potion he gulped it down quickly, hoping for the best and planning for the worst.

A few minutes later Albus Dumbledore could be seen walking out of an elevator as the manicured voice called out, '_level nine, Department of Mysteries._'

-x-x-x-x-x-

The sound of a soft crack brought her attention back from her son. It had been several hours since she had last seen him. She could not believe he was the same old boy who used to startle at the slight change in her tone. The difference was massive. The degree of the transformation and how quickly it had taken place made her sure it was something in relation to _his-lot._ Though there hadn't been this much change in her sister and never this drastic though. And that boy she was always with, that greasy little, good for nothing boy, he hadn't been this freaky at this age too. Not that she had gone looking for them when they had been out of the house. No, she couldn't compare anything relating to her nephew with him. He was already more unnatural than her sister had been. As she craned her neck to look towards the entrance, she saw him walking towards her with a slight smile on his face. Even though she was looking at him, when he spoke, Petunia almost jumped a little.

"Everything's set, Aunt Petunia. Although I am sure you would be disappointed to hear your favourite rose bushes didn't survive being in close proximity of a failing ward scheme I had set up to keep the nosy neighbours away. Anyways, I sort of found out that despite being a muggle you had somewhat of an interest in magic. So, consider this your first and possibly last lesson in the art. Memory altering. It is a technique which does exactly what it says. It alters your memory. There are plenty of rules involved in actually performing the practice on someone, which I won't bore you with, but the gist is that the more power applied during the application, the harder it would be reverse the effect. There comes a time when the effect becomes irreversible. Also, over the course of time, the altered memory latches on to the psyche with such a grip that the brain construes it as its own. Quite fascinating really. But you see, there is a catch. The more power is applied, the more the original memories are _stretched_. So, it takes a fine balance to alter someone's let's say life history enough to not make them a vegetable. Capeesh?"

Petunia looked on in horror as she figured out what he was going to do. As soon as she opened her mouth to scream, he jerked his hand in motion.

"**Obliviate."**

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon when the Dursleys were seen getting in their car while shouting at their wayward nephew about keeping the house clean and them being back later that night.

The little boy could be seen walking back into the house with a saddened face. Any observer, if there was one, could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes as he closed the door watching his relatives speeding away to their no doubt, fun-filled destination.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was a quarter to one when he opened his eyes. It was time. The last jaunt in his first prison. The events later would require precise timing and he needed a clear head for such. The preparations had been made earlier in the morning. Some had been taken care of during his little hike to the cabin last night. The next phase was ready for execution. Taking a last look around, he moved towards the basement. Bringing out his wand he spoke the incantation that would rid the world of their saviour.

"**Incendio Tria."**

A jet of green fire came forth and blazed through the wooden beams as easily as if they were made of paper. The fire continued to burn as he moved upstairs waiting for it to reach the upper bedrooms. It took a little while but the magical nature of the fire did achieve what he had hoped. As the burn became painfully uncomfortable he apparated out in the garden. Hearing the sirens in the distance, he knew, the neighbour at the front would be moving. He lifted his wand towards the heavens and shouted in an unnaturally bold voice before disapparating.

"**MORSMORDRE."**

-x-x-x-x-x-

Time was of the essence now.

It had to be done in a sequence but it had to be done readily.

He reached the circle as soon as he saw the moon above. He brought out a bottle and pulled the stopper, pouring the maroon viscus contents, signifying it as life-blood, into the goblet sitting in the middle of a circle of runic arrays representing the symbols that could only be found in a ritual chamber.

A slash through the palm and the goblet was filled with his lifeblood.

'**_Accipio sanguis tamquam unus ex vobis._**_'_

Another slash on the other palm and another generous deposit.

'**_Concede mihi vestrum_**_._'

A look at the moon and another slash horizontally through his naval.

'**_Concedo me iudicium._**'

A scream tore from his throat as blinding pain shot through his spine. He had prepared for this. He had bled for this. A little pain would not stop him from saving them all. Not now. Not ever.

'_Deep breaths Potter. In…Out…In…Out. Can't stop now. _**_He_**_ would know soon enough.'_

'**_Ego tibi meum sanguinem tuum est._**'

"AHHHHHH…"

No matter his resolve, no matter his defiance, he was in fact, in a six-year-old malnutrition body. The loss of blood and the painful ritual were enough of the catalysts to make his fragile body give up. As the moon shone onto the sweaty, bloody form of the child laying beneath its luminescence, a subtle change started taking place.

Over the course of hours, his hair that had once been a darker shade of black morphed into a slight brownish hue. His round oval face turned a bit angular, aristocratic. The eyes that had once been a unique shade of green, changed into the brightest of blues. The scars mended themselves and diminished to become barely visible.

The chosen one, the-boy-who-lived, the six-year-old orphan died that night. His third and final death.

But an end must give way to a new beginning. So, is the nature of the world.

A gasping breath came from the boy lying down as the first ray of sun shone upon the ground beneath. And Harold Kent, sole surviving heir of Ancient House of Kent took his first breath into the world.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
  
_A/N_  
  
**  
_  
_ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_  
_
> 
> _  
_Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._  
_
> 
> _  
_Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._  
_
> 
> _  
_And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._  
_
> 
> _  
_Thank You._  
_


	2. When a plan comes together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

Mrs Arabella Figg of number twelve, Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging was a peculiar woman. She had lived in her home in Surrey for nearing six years now and after that time, she could say, with some certainty, that she liked the monotonous and utterly dull environment of her current residence. It gave her plenty of time to devote to her gorgeous cats and kneazles. It was, in fact, a welcoming change from her previous life where the constant skirmishes and pitched battles between Aurors and those black hooded evil mongers were the flavours of the day.

She didn't miss the people. She didn't miss the looks those people gave her. She didn't miss her place in their world. But what she _did_ miss though, was her old home.

Sometimes when it was raining out, she could still imagine the hubbub of the Alley. Several merchants shouting out for the customers to do business, the cacophony of little children tromping around asking for their parents to buy them sweets and other knick-knacks. Other than those little things there was nothing much left for her at her old home in Diagon. And while she did have a spot for her old house in her heart, it was also marred by the painful memories of her brother.

Her dead brother.

They say the first thing you forget about someone is their voice. She didn't agree. She could still easily imagine his voice reciting to her his recent misadventures as a Junior Auror, could easily picture his happy smile as he saw her every day when he came back home. The passion in his eyes as he told her of his tales fighting the evil men that had the audacity to disturb the peace that he and his fellow Aurors had been fighting to preserve was inspiring. So was his dedication towards the cause that was the survival of their magical community. Even then, knowing that she couldn't engage in the things that his brother could engage in, on account of being a squib, she had never held any ill feelings for him. How could she? He was her little brother. He was her little Eddie. It didn't matter that he had grown. It didn't matter that he had a family of his own. He would _always_ be her little Eddie.

It physically hurt her that whenever she was imagining his happy face, it suddenly morphed into an image of his bleeding and dying body staring at her with a pair of unfocused, lifeless eyes. His torn body in front of her. It may have had happened quite a few years before, but the masked visage of the bastards who had butchered her little Eddie was something that was always present in her psyche.

When she woke suddenly to a sound and saw the form of a tall man with a hint of silvery mask hiding beneath the hooded cloak standing near her bed, she knew. It was her one chance at getting what she had always wanted. The thing that had made her agree to what the headmaster had asked of her.

Revenge.

She had known that if she stayed close to the beacon of light for the world, the babe who had rid the world of their master, they would sniff him out sooner or later. And then she would have her chance. A chance she was getting now.

Belaying her advance years, she lunged at the man intending to throw him to the ground.

She never got the chance.

A flick of his wand and she was bound and gagged.

"Filthy little squib." He spat near her.

"Mmmff…"

"So, Old Dumbles thought _you_ of all people could keep him safe, did he? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He was always a bit daft. First, thinking he had a chance against our Lord, and then this…Leaving a poor old squibbie here in charge of watching over his precious boy-who-lived. A house-elf wasn't available?" He mocked.

"Mphfff…"

"What? One of your cats got your tongue, did it? Don't worry squibbie, they won't be bothering anybody anymore. They are sleeping nice and quiet like. I made sure of that."

"Whmfff…"

"Yes, I know what you're thinking. Why aren't you dead yet. Well, it's simple really. I need you to deliver a message to ol' Albus."

She eyed him warily as he closed the distance between them. Though the silvery mask had never left his face, his maddening black eyes were visible inside the slits that held her gaze. When he got close enough that she could feel his disgusting breath, he whispered into her ear, "Tonight marks the day when I avenged my Lord. Tonight, his little half-blooded miracle just ran out of luck. Did you get all that little squibbie? Yes?…Good. **Stupify**."

If there had been anyone standing outside the bedroom window since the moment Arabella Figg _saw_ herself being _attacked_, they would have suspected, quite strongly, that she was having the worst sort of nightmare. Watching her talking and mumbling under her breath as she laid in the bed with her eyes half-closed, would have been moderately alarming, to say the least. As it was, there was no one. Just like there was no attack on her person. Simply a small measure in a series of a complicated plan concocted by a six-year-old.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The sharp whistling noises coming from the small devices aligned on the top of the bookshelf in his office were not the first indicators that had him up and moving from his chair. Albus Dumbledore had felt the wards on the place shatter before he had even heard the noises. With the agility that betrayed his ageing years, he scampered towards the centre of the room and called out to his familiar.

"FAWKES!"

A bright flash of firey explosion ensued as the phoenix deposited the headmaster on the street directly across from the place in question. His eyes darted towards the sky as they mechanically captured the colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As he looked at the Dark Mark in the night sky a sinking realisation dawned on him. A great paroxysm of fire shook the house as the beams holding the place collapsed. He moved with haste towards the fiery tornado, dodging various sweltering projectiles coming his way. A wave of his wand cleared his path as he reached the last clear spot in front of the inferno.

"No…Not Harry…NOT HIM!" He shouted unknowingly mimicking the words of a dying mother as he ran ahead, heedless of the fire.

A mighty wave of his wand snuffed the flames from the path towards the front porch. Charred wood met his feet as he moved towards the still alit door. Another small explosion from within blasted the door apart with a ferocity that sent debris hurtling towards the oncoming headmaster. Shifting to his right, Albus shielded himself even as his wand moved in a complex pattern to transfigure the collapsing wood into something more sturdy. Another explosion from the lit garage adjacent to the headmaster threw him away like a rag doll.

Dumbledore rolled to his side as he tried getting up. His scraped knee and elbows were forgotten as he took in the sight of the fiery structure that had once been the home of their world's greatest hope and his chance at redemption. Right in front of his eyes, the house came crashing down as it tumbled into a heap.

Horror drove in his heart as he realised what the fire had caused. Everything was lost. He had failed, utterly. Failed in his duty to protect one who would have sacrificed himself for the sake of the world. He had lost his brightest hope in this fight against evil. And how? Why? What had happened?

It all seemed so sudden…too sudden. As if…as if…

A thought struct then. His eyes flew wide. It _was_ too sudden. It shouldn't have happened. _Couldn't _have happened. He had made sure that Harry was protected. He had been sure. It had to be false. It had to be…

Countless scenarios and plays flashed through his brain as he came to a possible conclusion. All mightn't be lost. He had to make sure. He had to know.

'_**Crack**_!'

Appearing within his office, he made a beeline for the one thing that could give him some respite. A device of his own making. A blood monitoring device that could possibly tell the condition of the person whose blood it had stored.

With a shaking hand, he gently opened the lid.

Disappointment and not a little fear rose in his chest as he gazed upon the silent and now dull faced metallic apparatus.

Nothing was certain though. There could be plenty of reasons for a possible failure of the device. Not one to take any chances, he disapparated.

'_**Crack**_!'

Appearing on the pavement of Wisteria Walk, he ran into the house at the corner. _She_ would know. How could she not? She lived just around the corner. He went through the room without pause. Entering the bedroom had him looking at the woman of his pursuit. She had a thick sheen of sweat on her brow. Judging by the almost non-existent rate of breathing, he knew, she had been stunned.

"**Ennervate."**

She awoke as though she had come alive then. Shaking her hands every which way and pointing them towards the door of the room. As she saw the one who was holding her, she attempted to warn the headmaster.

"ALBUS… ALBUS… He's here. He's here in the house. He said…He told me…"

"CALM Arabella…calm. Who is here? What has happened?"

"I was attacked. He…He said… OH MY... ALBUS! The boy… The boy Albus… He was here to kill the boy. You have to save him. You have to get to him before he does."

"Before who does Arabella?"

Even though he had posed her this question, he was already combing through her mind so as to understand what had happened to the hysterical woman. He saw it then. The Death Eater, because it surely had been a Death Eater who had come into her home and assaulted her. The silvery mask shimmering in the pale moonlight coming from the windows. It was a frightening thing. To see someone he didn't recognize, fool his security measures so thoroughly as to not even let him get any alert from their rupture.

Time was of the essence now though. The evidence was still insufficient for him to believe what he had seen. It couldn't be. The fates themselves had designed it so. The boy had to be the one. They would not kill him without their master's say so. He was the prophecised…

'_The_ _Prophecy!'_

A small hope still lingered.

"I will find him, Arabella. I will save him. You needn't worry. **Somnus."**

As soon as her head hit the pillow, he was gone.

'_**Crack**_!'

He arrived at the Ministry Atrium. Running, despite the chaffing from his robes aggravating the wounds on his body. _'They couldn't know about it. Severus was sure Tom hadn't mentioned the prophecy to anyone.' _Moving towards the lift, and commandeered it for his self imposed mission. A few seconds later and he was walking briskly towards the hall of prophecies.

'_Ninety-four…Ninety-six…Here! Ninety-Seven.'_

'_It is here. Good. Now, to make sure…'_

He moved towards the shelf with his wand in hand, hoping to levitate it and see the distinctive glow that emanated from within giving a pale glow which marked a prophecy to still be in motion.

A dull orb was what he found.

Disappointment.

Fear.

Doubt.

Anger.

All whirled within him, seeing the proof for himself. All was lost. His hopes. All the plans he had made. Everything. Nothing would ever be the same.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Miles away, in a small cottage home, near the Lake District of North West England, Harold Kent slept through, recovering from the agonising blood adoption ritual he had completed the night before. The boy, known until recently as Harry Potter was buried though. He had taken many precautions and played many hands to make sure of that.

Sitting on the table at the foot of the bed, in the clutches of a claw-shaped wooden holder was a glass orb, gleaming in the moonlight with a pale white luminescence.

Many didn't know it yet, but the game was afoot.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You.  
_2\. A short one, I know. But it was always supposed to be a follow up of the last chapter's incidents. Next chapter will be uploaded soon. As soon as I am done reviewing it._  
_ _


	3. Touchdown – Am I in the right place?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

Vincent Bode was an Unspeakable. And a fairly good one at that. He knew what was expected of him and did his best to deliver. In his long career as a member of an ancient society of warlocks, who were responsible for unravelling the secrets of magic, he had made his mark by performing admirably and undertaking projects that had found its way into many of the books detailing magical theories. Without mentioning his name of course. No, the fame was for the people whom the department selected as their _puppets_. The people who had moderate knowledge of the subject. Just enough to pass the scrutiny. No, he was not one to relish fame. He had other accomplishments for that.

His wards for one.

The complicated structures of runic arrays that involved the representation of a warding scheme in a three-dimensional array using a very precise form of mage sight were some of his _minor_ achievements. Added to the fact that his protective enchantments were nothing to sneeze at, the report sitting in front of his desk right now, could be considered something rather strange from the usual events he was used to handling.

"…_the safe-house seemed to be untouched. The minor disturbances in the surge readers within the area were too small to be recorded and thus the data could not be obtained from the monitoring station. The residual…"_

A breach of their safe-house, while alarming, was a non-issue at the moment. The agents who had been permitted to have access to that location had all been confirmed safe. Similarly, their operations had been deemed to have been below the usual risk required for extraction. What had him boggled though was the incident itself. To have completely bypassed all the security measures _and _not trip any of the alarms?

A conundrum indeed.

Sighing in defeat, for the moment, he stood up. While his pride in his work would not let him forget the case, he did need to report it to his superiors. And if he knew Croaker as he did, he had quite a long briefing to look forward to.

_'Oh, Joy.'_

If not the vanity of his achievements then the droning voice of his boss that he was certainly about to hear certainly gave him plenty of reason to murder the crafty bugger.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was the third evening of his arrival when he came to. The light coming from the sun felt like hard piercing daggers to his eyes. Groaning, because of the lingering pain within his body, he sat up. A few moments was all it took for the realisation to set in. Not even a twitch was registered of his movements. A shallow breath came and he released it. For the second time in as many days, necessity required him to take stock. Hoping that it wouldn't become a regular thing, now that he had _some _breathing space, he stood up, wincing every time the sore muscles gave way to radiating pain.

A short walk in the modest-sized bedroom had him near the full-length mirror adorning the wall. Most would have been surprised to see the changes in themselves. To see a somewhat different image of your own when you knew instinctively what you looked like should have been a point of concern for anyone and a very understandable reaction. But usually, one didn't have survival experiences the likes of which left you wishing for the simplicity of an end. Usually, one doesn't have to make sure that every time they went out, they had a different face to call their own. Usually, one doesn't spend year after year as a nomad trying to save what they could, when they could. And thus, it made him indifferent to the face he could see in the mirror. The ever-present scars on his body were mere shadows of their past. Even the scar on his forehead had faded to a surprising content, at least enough to not be visible so openly as before. He still felt the lingering murkiness when he concentrated on it though. So, his **_hitch_-_hiker_** was still present with him, much to his annoyance. He had grown in the most minuscule amount. Just enough to call himself lanky rather than underfed. His hair were a _tad_ bit tamable judging by the _smaller _ones that still had the resolute will to grow every which way unimpeded. And despite it all, there was the one thing that did saddened him the most.

He no longer had his mother's eyes.

The vividly glowing greens were now dull cerulean blues.

Another thing chalked to add onto the sacrifice tally. Another thing to lose on the way to redemption. Another invisible mark on his psyche.

Shaking his head to rid himself of morbid thoughts, he walked to the table at the centre of the room. He had achieved most of his short term goals in one night, the time and resource requirement for which had troubled him endlessly when he had been making his plans. Now, knowing what he did, he didn't have to look at the headlines of the prophet to know that things had gone exactly the way he had intended. The things he had seen in Arabella's mind had been enough for him to understand the seriousness with which Dumbledore had taken his safety when it came to the sweet ministrations of his relatives. The meddler had known. Harry had suspected that. Still, to suspect and know the reality were two different things. But it had worked out in his favour in the end. He had successfully distanced himself from the one person who had the intelligence, motive and power to ruin his plans. Now, all he had to do was to take advantage of his momentary distraction to plant a few seeds that would enable him to silently embed himself in the society as a legitimate scion of a largely overlooked Ancient House.

In his past, the discovery of the ruins of the seat of Ancient House of Kent had been something of an eye-opener for most of the resistance. To see the loss that represented a heritage – older than many, it's members – killed without reason, their fortunes – stolen by a corrupted ministry, and their name – forgotten by their own. The consequences of constant wars were clear to all that had stood in broken, rackety, ruins that had once been a modest manor home.

His Best-Friend, as per ner nature, had dedicated more than a few hours finding anything and everything she could on the Ancient House and its members. He hadn't had the opportunity to look through what she had uncovered. And after she had been stolen from him... then it hadn't been anything to do with the house itself but everything to do with remembering _her._

It was within her notes that he had found his current abode. A modest-sized and fairly solitary cottage in the Lake District, conveniently situated between two of the most important locations of their community. Hogwarts, in Scotland and Ministry of Magic, in London.

Bringing his thoughts in the order he focused on something that needed him to get around again.

Information.

While being confident was well enough. To let that confidence dictate your actions without confirming the variables was the height of folly. A mistake he wasn't keen on making. Thus, with a weary mind and body, he strolled towards the front door to make his way to the only place he could get his answers. Diagon Alley.

-x-x-x-x-x-

He had expected more.

From being denigrated of being a rising dark lord to being extolled as the chosen one, Harry had plenty of experience with the overly formed and ever-changing opinions of the public when it came to the life of their favourite past time, the-boy-who-lived. But what he didn't have any clue about was what he was seeing at the moment.

It had been hard enough to see this many people going about their normal routines but to see them migrating to and fro, talking in loud whispers about the meddler and _praising _the ministry, boggled his mind. And it wasn't the only thing that he found suspicious and uncomforting, no. What he had trouble with, was seeing these many folks walking around just talking as if their world wasn't collapsing right this instant.

Then he remembered.

Nothing _had_ happened for them. Not yet anyway. Their world hadn't been ravaged by the ghouls of war. Nothing devastating had happened for five years. Well, apart from the suspiciously praiseworthy ministry. That thought exploded into smithereens as soon as he laid eyes on the newspaper.

He had managed to acquire a copy of the Daily Prophet from a kindly man who had finished reading his while waiting for a friend in the Leaky Cauldron. Contrary to popular belief the presence of a kid in a popular place such as the Cauldron could not hope to bring anyone's attention. And thus, the man hadn't even batted an eye when Harry had asked for the paper. He had been hoping to see some flashing headlines depicting the gruesome end of the saviour of their world.

He was half right.

There _were_ more than a few flashy headlines present on the front page of the paper. But what they said was something so bizarre, so inexplicable that even him, who had the added benefit of being a trans-time/reality interloper, thought it to be the work of one of the impressibly powerful imaginary creatures that _a certain girl _could think of. Blinking twice he read it again to see if they had changed.

**_The Real truth gets out _**  
**_What really happened on 31st October 1981?_**  
** _The real truth of the-boy-who-lived_**  
** _Sirius Black – The Innocent Sacrifice?_**  
** _(By Rita Skeeter)_**

_Ministry of Misdirection!_

_Minister Fudge – The Man of Action, through his spokesperson, Madame Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had revealed to us yesterday, the real truth of the events that transpired on the night of 31 October 1981._

_We all know the story. The Dark Lord visited the potters, who were in hiding due to their retaliatory and defensive effort against the threats posed by He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named. Though he had every intention of killing everyone in the family, he met his end at the hands of a small babe, Harry Potter, who deflected the terrifying and indefensible, Killing Curse, back on its caster thus, ridding us of the most terrible dark lord to ever seen in Magical Britain._

_At least that is what has been told to us._

_But imagine my surprise, dear readers, when I received an invitation from our ministry of magic to attend a press conference, the subject of which vaguely stated it was a formal get together for possible information dissemination in relation to the night in question while hinting at the presence of the minster himself along with Madam Bones, Head of DMLE, who has a standing habit of sending the media to Coventry_ _._

_I confess to being more than a little intrigued. _ _Not only because that horrific night had happened long ago but also for the event to have the attendance of Madam Bones, it was bound to be **interesting. **_ _And it proved as such._

_As the panel unfolded the events right in front of us along with the showing of more than a few pieces of evidence, I could not believe in the amount of dedication that would have required to pull what this administration had. You see, the Dark L_ _ord did meet his end at the night in question. But there is a reason that the events that took place are as shrouded as they are. We had been told that only a single potter survived that night. That baby Harry Potter was the only one to escape and that too with just a small mark on his forehead. Well as it turns out, it had been a lie. A very deliberate lie generated for the craftiest of schemes. You-Know-Who certainly ended the line of House Potter that night. There were _ ** _no_ ** _ survivors._

_How then was it then that the Dark Lord met his end, you ask?_

_That is a most intriguing tale._

_You see, there was another person who had been there that night. A person who has been responsible for defeating another dark lord and saving us from a terrible fate once before. _ ** _Albus _ ** ** _Dumbledore_ ** _, our Chief Warlock, The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, and arguably the most powerful wizard of the modern times, knew that the lives of some of his most treasured friends were at risk and _ _knowing that, he_ _ had protected them ever since. He had set up fairly strong protections, some of the wards of his own making against anyone who intended to harm them. Other than his wards one other protection that had been added was the Fidelius Charm. An immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find – unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window! The Secret-Keeper in the case of Potters was _ ** _believed_ ** _ to be Sirius Black. Yes, my dear readers, THE MASS MURDERER, Sirius Black. But, it all had been a ruse. A ruse to find the traitor amongst their midst. Sirius Black along with the potters had formed a plan that would bring out the double agent who had been responsible for the deaths of many of their friends. Asking one of their friends, Peter Pettigrew to be the REAL Secret-Keeper, they portrayed as if they trusted Sirius Black more than any of their other friends, thinking that anyone looking for a secret-keeper would turn to him. Knowing that the traitor would then target Black, they laid their trap. But You-Know-Who wasn't the most dreaded dark lord for nothing. He had already had his clutches onto the one who would lead the potters to their demise. Peter Pettigrew had already been turned by the Dark Lord, he was the traitor the Potters had been searching for. When they trusted him with their most precious secret, he betrayed them to his master._

_As the Dark Lord had been preparing to leave, he met his match in the form of a furious looking Albus Dumbledore. The vaunted Warlock, in the display of true skill and power, defeated his second dark lord that night. We, unfortunately, could not get Chief Warlock to answer the questions about the deadly duel but there is no doubt among us that it would have been ferociously epic._

_On the night that Sirius Black caught up with traitor Pettigrew, he attempted to take him into custody, but the wiled Death Eater blasted the road with a dark curse that took his own life and resulted in serious injuries to the former. When asked why the innocent Black had then been shipped to Azkaban, Ministry provided us with the records for one Sirius Orion Black. According to ministerial records, there was no trial for Sirius Black. We, the reporters, were given full access to all the files pertaining to the matter and were even given the opportunity to verify their validity, we could not find any paperwork proving that Sirius Black had ever been sentenced to Azkaban._

_When the questions about the current status of Sirius Black was asked, the Ministry provided us with one thing that could most certainly prove that the entire story was true._

_They presented the man himself._

_We have been given permission to print an excerpt from_ _ the _ ** _full_ ** _ transcript of the small questioning session of Mr Sirius Black under the effects of Veritaserum, a ministry defined Grade-1 Narcotic, which forces the drinker to tell the truth, held right in front of all the reporters during the press conference._

** _Interrogator _ ** _– What is your name?_

** _Black _ ** _– Sirius Orion Black._

** _Interrogator_ ** _ – Were you the secret-keeper for Potters during the period of 1980-81?_

** _Black – _ ** _No._

** _Interrogator_ ** _ – Were you in any way a part of an organisation lead by Lord Voldemort named Death Eaters._

** _Black_ ** _ – No, I would have died before I joined them._

_When asked why he had done this, he responded with just a few words._

** _Black_ ** _ – James and Lily were my friends, there isn't anything I wouldn't _ _have done to see those responsible in Azkaban._

_After those moving words and even in the presence of such highly decorated faces such as the panel in front, this reporter did not shirk in her duty to ferret out the truth my readers, I asked boldly, for the reason for which all this facade took place. I hadn't truly expected any answer though, believing it to be similar to my previous attempts at gaining answers during the other investigations. But, surprisingly, I got one. And from the Minister himself. Here are his exact words. "**When**** I came into this office, all I had was a very small group of people whom I knew, I could trust with the betterment of our community. Despite that, I pledged to improve the situation that had been left to me by my predecessor. During the course of this, I gained knowledge of certain elements that even after the defeat of their master, did not believe him gone. They were most dangerous and could go to any lengths to see their evil desires come to pass. I made a plan then. Along with the DMLE Aurors on my personal staff, and others close to me, we decided to inject some spies of our own in their midst. It was their mission to burrow themselves within the ranks of these deadly elements and bring them to justice. One of the names that stand out is my dear friend, Lucius Malfoy. He performed his role with more courage than could have been expected of anyone not having any training beforehand and his sacrifice and dedication along with those of many others led to the success of this secret operation. An operation, I am pleased to announce, reached its conclusion the night before last. There was a tactical reason behind us fanning the flames that had been the fiction of the-boy-who-lived. If the dark elements saw a clear and easily accessible hope that was the image of the boy for all of us, they were sure to target him. And that had been what we were hoping for. After various operations and the efforts of the fine officers of the DMLE working under my staff in secret, we finally defeated those dark elements. I stand here today to tell each and every citizen of the community of Magical Britain, that as long as my administration is in power, we will keep you safe, as we have done till now. The details of the operation will be presented to you by my Senior Undersecretary Madam Umbridge."**_

_I never would have thought it possible to be more proud of our community than I was before I received that invitation. But now, knowing that the pillars of this society had risked their lives so the people who wish to destroy us, our way of living, could come to justice, brings forth a…_

He didn't read ahead. He couldn't really.

Two days.

He had been sleeping for two days and the whole fucking world had shifted. He knew the person responsible. He knew who had fed that moron that called himself the minister of Magic this heap of hippogryph dung.

He clenched his fists in anger as a single thought ran through his mind.

'_The fuck did you do Albus!'_

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _


	4. Are you...Are you really Stubby Boardman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Author Notes_** – 1. I have been trying my hands at the nuances of the proper usage of subtle humorous phrases in between the telling of a serious excerpt. A fake galleon to those who could find all such words used in relation to Sirius Black in this chapter. Hint – Some are emphasized, some aren't. And I believe I haven't been able to portray the difference between an uttered spell ("spell") and a mentally spoken spell ('spell'). Similarly, thoughts and background noises have been portrayed by ('thoughts' or 'thoughts' or ''background'') and memories and flashbacks by ("flashback"). It's confusing, I know. But it all depends on the context. I think you will know which is which when you read it. That's all. Enjoy the chapter.
> 
> 2\. **_A/N_**__ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?__
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

-x-x-x-x-x-

It all started with an almost quiet hum. A pleasant sound which was heard by all in the atrium. None really registered it though. The ministry atrium was known to house more than a few showboarding elements, this was probably another one of its kind. There were people going about their own way, moving to and from the various entrances provided for their convenience. Some of the reporters were also present, conducting last-minute interviews with many of the people who had been in the spotlight recently. The highly vaunted vultures had already picked their carcasses, it was time for the smaller ones to have their fill. And one such motley crew of seven junior reporters was hanging around in a secluded corner to ask questions of one Sirius Black.

He was surrounded by a few Aurors assigned on his protection detail. On account of the word of his _sacrifice _not having reached much of the populace still, the Minister's office in their vaunted wisdom, had arranged for an Auror guard for the man. And the man himself? He was very much distracted chatting up a newly promoted Junior Reporter from some across-the-pond newspaper that he understandably missed some of the conversations taking place around him.

"…_so you decided to bring him to work? Are you completely daft? Do you know how much shit we would have to deal with if the Capt'n sees you with him while on duty? I do not, under any circumstances, want the boat duty again. You know that place scares the shit out of me, Johnson!"_

"_Yeah. Yeah. I hear ya. Don't get your panties in a bunch, Adams. Besides, what was I supposed to do, leave him with Cassandra for the whole day? That hag makes even the Captain uncomfortable. You would have liked had I left a five-year-old kid with her?"_

"O_f course not! But...Ughh. Look, just get him home quickly yeah? We gotta get this _casanova_ back to the safe-house." He then turned his eyes towards the kid and gave him what he thought was an appropriately menacing stare before addressing him directly. "And kid, don't do anything stupid, get me?"_

_The small boy nodded his head fearfully._

It was at that time the Minister entered the atrium along with his staff and his personal Auror guards. As he arrived though, the soft melody that had been playing elated itself to a piece of grandiose music. Those who had their muggle roots still attached to themselves recognised the music to be a lovely little ditty called 'Entrance to the Queen of Sheba.' The Minister, seeing the effect of the music, smiled grandly to the public within the atrium and waved before departing.

_It was within these few moments when the boy noticed that the attention had been lifted off of him, that he pulled a sickle out of his pocket and dropped it in the slightly enlarged wand pocket of the man in front of him._

_He had certainly earned the two galleons in his other pocket now. And he could even tell his new **friend** about the prank he had pulled on the pompous prick standing in front of him, currently engaged in the recitation of one of his many secret adventures._

"…And here I was in the middle of a fearsome battle when it came to me, if not now, then when and if not me then who would be the most suitable to rid the world of two of the darkest wizards we had ever encountered. Knowing that I was very likely putting my life at risk, I enacted my plan and…"

An Auror interrupted him mid-sentence, "Mr Black, we need to move you to a secure location. The word about your innocence hasn't spread as much as we had hoped. It is better if we left now rather than chancing a run-in with a wannabe good samaritan," he said in a bland tone.

"It's Lord Black now Auror. Didn't you know? I can't see how you wouldn't, seeing as you were the one who escorted me to the Wizengamot chambers when I took my rightful place as the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black amidst my peers. Keep things in mind, won't you? How you passed the academy with a memory like that is beyond me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to apologise to this lovely lady for leaving before giving her the story I had promised."

Turning towards the now thoroughly indulged woman, he flashed his brilliant smile and gave a shallow bow before taking her hand and kissing the air above her knuckles.

"I apologise, milady. It seems our dalliance must end for the night. I am sure I'll have the pleasure of being in your company again. Till then…Au Revoir."

Without looking back at her but knowing the blushing woman had most certainly become putty in his hands he moved towards the direction Aurors indicated.

"Thanks, Adams. I had just about run out of ways of getting myself out of _an ambush by the Carrow twins. _Drinks on me tonight," said Sirius.

"Sure thing _Lord _Black."

"Don't mock the title Johnson, I have earned it. Now, let's get out from here." He paused a moment as if trying to remember something. "What was the bar called again?" he asked at last.

A surly Auror to his left who hadn't spoken a word since he had been assigned to watch the pillock in front of him gave a grunted reply. "The Quiet Woman*****, Lord Black."

A loud chuckle escaped him. "An impossibility I am afraid Auror," he remarked. "Nevertheless, let us see how _quiet_ women of this place can be."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Their party left the ministry taking the least conspicuous exit they could hope for in muggle London, the visitor's entrance, known popularly among the wizards as the _'feletone booth.'_

It took a moment of distraction and a joyish scream of a boy to bungle it all. A split second. The sight of a muggle Ice cream truck ahead of the alley and an exclamation of childish desire was all it took for the _trained_ Aurors to lose sight of their _package_.

"HEY! ICE CREAM!"

Sirius Black, being ahead of the party he was travelling with, was just about to turn towards the sound, his hand reaching for his wand in the robes when he inadvertently touched something that felt like a _coin?_ in his pocket and felt a hook somewhere behind the navel as a word activated portkey took hold of him.

Recovering from the false alarm, the Aurors turned back to see the empty space where their quarry was just standing.

They would look everywhere. But neither his flowing black hair nor his hide would be found until much too late.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It took quite a few moments for him to settle himself after the abrupt journey he had been forced to undertake. He _did_ get himself upright though. Not that it did him any good. He was disarmed and bound almost as soon as his eyes lifted from the ground. A thoroughly _hitched_ Sirius Black felt himself float towards an empty chair where he was unceremoniously deposited.

Darting around for a look in every direction to find his attacker, he screamed some of the harshest profanities he could muster at the moment. Realising that no sound had been coming from his throat, he snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. A soft tap took his attention and he was just about to turn his head towards his side as a voice coming from seemingly everywhere had him looking around in a futile attempt to identify his abductor.

"A clever one, aren't you?" The voice taunted even as a spell was sent forth towards him to allow him the use of his voice once again.

"…"

"_Lord Black_, as I do not wish to waste both of our times, well, mostly mine, considering it is much more important than yours at the moment, I will come directly to the point. How many, besides the minister's personal staff know of your little arrangement?"

"…"

"I see. That is a very telling answer. Normally, I would be able to gain much through your silence and would have even provided you with a choice between answering further and experiencing mind-shattering pain. However, at the moment, my time is, as I stated previously, quite a precious commodity. And considering you are just a…well, It would be generous to call you a puppet, but let's settle on it at the moment…as you are merely a puppet, I doubt you would know much. Thus, giving you any sort of choice is moot. More so, as the life of an innocent hangs in the balance, I cannot tarry. It would be prudent to just go through with it. Don't you agree, _**Mister **__**Boardman**__?_"

"…"

"I had at least hoped for a very dramatic gasp. No matter…"

**"Legilimens."**

A _thrilling _ride – which involved him barring down on his prisoner's less than useless mental shields – later he was coaxing the correct set of memories to find his answers. It took a while, but he got there in the end.

"… _you need not do anything Mister Boardman except to keep your mouth shut. Do that and no one will be any the wiser. It has been five years since anyone has seen Black. Short of a blood test by the goblins, there isn't anything that can identify you. You both look somewhat similar. The lack of memories can be credited to some odd time that you had to be in the presence of the dementors to maintain your cover. And if all else falls short, I believe you have considerable experience from many of the productions, do you not? Its time to channel those long-forgotten skills…"_

"…_of course Madam Secretary, I understand. I will not fail you or the Minister."_

-x-x-x-x-x-

"…_Robards, assign a light protective detail for him. See that no harm comes to him from anyone __**outside **__our control."_

-x-x-x-x-x-

"…_We need to clear the ground for Boardman's, shall we say, adoption of the role. Black needs to be disposed of. See that it is done, Gawain. Do it tomorrow. Preferably at night. Silently…"_

-x-x-x-x-x-

He came out of Boardman's mind as quietly as he had gone in. Seeing some of the memories in the forgotten singer's mind, he was quite certain that it was just a few people who were in the know. And given the fact that the Minister's personal staff did not consist of many, it was a safe bet that except Robards and Umbridge, there wasn't anyone involved. At least not directly. He would have to look into that. But that was for later. Priorities needed to be set. And tonight one such task took the aforementioned priority. The bitch had said tomorrow night.

That was tonight.

With a negligent wave of his hand, the bound Stubby Boardman was stunned, even as he moved past the door.

He had a lot of preparations to do.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Imperius Curse was an Unforgivable. Most theories based on its effects stated that it gave the caster complete control over a person. Others stated that until the moment the caster wanted, the person was in complete control of himself and the spell merely gave the caster sort of an "_in_", for the lack of a better word, inside the person's mind. From what he had found and experienced, it was something in between. Complete control was indeed what it gave that caster, along with the control of all his extremities. It was a lot like possession without actually possessing the person. Though it was severely dependent on the will of the person the imperius was cast on. Many having a hard enough will, would never crack. For those, the triggers came into play. The _"__in"_ that was established based on triggers could work indefinitely depending on the power that the cast applied every time a trigger was initiated. But then it basically leeched off the casters magic at an exponential rate.

He should know. He had done it countless times.

Capture an unlucky new recruit that Noseless' minions had assigned a fairly mundane mission to. Wipe the shit out of his memories. Imperius him to be a 'magical suicide bomber' and voila. More resources from the station he just bombarded at zero costs. No. That was untrue. The cost was always there. The price was just not always in gold. Sometimes it took a bit of his humanity to purchase something for his motley crew.

He didn't have any such qualms this evening. It was something that just needed to be done. Without involving any of the usual elements.

Eyeing a tall wizard dressed in the typical dark robes and a hooded face about to enter a brothel house on the outskirts of Knockturn, he made his move. Stumbling with him on purpose and moving rapidly away was always going to make the man come after him. Turning to a dead-end made sure that his quarry followed to 'teach him a lesson'. A quick turn about and a stunner was all it took to take down the man. Either the quality of these seemingly _dark wizards_ had been getting lower by the day or he was so used to fighting his fights to death that these little pissants didn't even register as a threat.

A side-along apparition later, he was in an abandoned alley in London. A quick incantation of **"Imperio"**, had the man completely at his mercy. Fortunately for him, Harry simply wanted a mouthpiece for the moment. Testing the control, he had the man do some quick movements. Satisfied with the results, _he__**** **_moved.

Crossing the road to reach the only place capable of providing him with the resources for the mission with his almost empty pockets, he lifted his eyes to see the rackety board above.

'_Terrance's Drama Company.'_

Reaching the space they called their office, he rung the little bell at the centre of the table. When a portly man came from behind, he addressed his query.

"Hullo. I am _David_. How would you like to make a few Quids?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Contrary to popular belief Azkaban was not a very populated place. Neither in terms of its guards nor the prisoners. There were three levels that went from minimum to high-security, based on the degree of interaction between the prisoners and the _real _guards that were the Dementors of Azkaban. Besides them, there was a single officer who supervised the duties of the guards, the warden. Conveniently, his duties and position had him living mostly_ off_ the island prison. At any moment there were only three guards stationed at any of the levels, less if that level was in the high-security region. Sirius Black was a residence of a high-security cell known for housing the worst of the worst. These were the reason that allowed the minister to even think about pulling off his current scheme. There were witnesses, Sure. But their numbers were quite manageable. Especially for a prisoner such as Black. There were still plenty of speculations abound regarding his role in the war, there were plenty that didn't take the ministry on their word, but that was what they had hoped for because that meant that things could be manipulated quite easily then. As was happening presently.

It was half-past eleven when the boat came near enough to be seen. He was laying in the shadows within the bushes nearby as he controlled _David _to hide with his current collaborators silently beneath the docks. They had been waiting for an hour already and he was sure that if there had been any longer, he would have had to field some very uncomfortable questions from the people that surrounded him. Knowing that those with him would require minute directions, he signalled toward the boat.

Seeing the nearest man nod, he moved _David _slowly towards the sandy end of the shore on the other side of them.

As the boat came nearer he could finally hear some snippets while others were drowned by the churning sea.

"…Do you think we should just do it on the boat and toss him in there?" came the voice of one Auror asking his partner as he gestured toward the open sea.

"No. Robards said to do it on the level and to make sure his corpse had burnt to ash before nicking ourselves to make it seem like he tried to run. We have been over this. Don't be a chicken, Bailey," his partner replied sternly.

"I am not being a chicken. It's called self-preservation, Jones."

"Yeah? How about I teach you the real meaning of self-preservation by obliviating the shit out of you here and now? One less mouth breather to worry about…No? Then shut the fuck up and do as we've been ordered to do." Bailey shut his mouth quickly after that.

As soon as the guards touched the ground, heaving the unconscious and disgustingly smelling body that was a barely alive Sirius Black, fresh from Azkaban, he struck.

A little spell to trigger the delayed anti-portkey and apparition wards surrounding the beach area, to secure their targets from going _out_ and a red spark from his wand to the sky brought their attention to his spot as he apparated near his collaborators. As soon as the Aurors turned their heads in the direction of the red sparks lighting the sky, he signalled the people behind him to initiate the plan. He himself had the task of running forward to reach his targets before they gathered their frayed nerves. A stunner left _David's _wand and struck the one near to the shore. Another one, a banishing hex this time was well on its way even before the first Auror was down.

Seeing his partner hit with something was enough for Jones to realise they had been made. Someone, multiple someones had joined the party and he had no clue as to what their motives could be. He lept aside from the oncoming spell and fired back his own. Hiding behind the boat he engaged the one hooded figure coming straight ahead presumably for him. He could see his opponent was getting tired as his movements became a bit slow and jerky. Thinking he had the person on the ropes, he decided to press his advantage. A bone breaker and a stunner combo left his wand even as he prepared to capture the fool who had the audacity to attack him. A moment of brevity was his undoing as another hooded figure suddenly attacked him with the paddle of the boat, knocking the wand out of his hands.

Jones knew he had been defeated as soon as the wand left his hand. While every Auror had to go through the conditioning required to withstand torture, he was a bit skittish to give his soon to be captors such a chance. With both hands clearly visible he indicated his surrender. The confusion was still present on his face though as he tried and failed to understand was why there was only one person who had his wand out and why, in spite of being seven of them, two were holding the boat paddles. His confusion reached further heights when he heard some of what they were saying to him.

"…you mangy cur. You dare to murder the royal blood when we, the most loyal of the royal line still live. You dare attack us with your evil magic. You shall be hanged in the middle of the town even as the crows feasted on your flesh. Nothing will stop us from…" A deep voice interrupted him.

"That's enough Sir lionel! I do not think that our words would pierce his thick skull much less his warped mind. The witch has gotten her claws in him too deep I'm afraid. It is time we left. The king would be waiting for news. We have to reach the palace post haste. We cannot tarry. Knight Percival, bind the heathen after I have given him a little taste of our might." _David _said before moving towards Jones with his wand tucked in his sleeves. A muttered and discrete cast and Jones was out like a light.

"…Aaaand CUT! That was some brilliant work gentlemen. I have not seen such authentic performances from even those bastards on Carthwick street. Right. As you were told, the permit for the shooting in this area expired around midnight. Your cheques have already been delivered to James at the reception. I need to take these actors back to their hotel. No matter their insistence, I cannot simply let them lie here, even if they call it method acting. Now if you all would just gather here, I would present you with the certifications. Yes, here. Come forth Samantha, you were wonderful tonight. All gathered… Good.

"**Obliviate Vinicio."**

"You all performed admirably tonight. After the shoot and meeting the director, you received information about how you will be contacted further. Then you decided to walk around the beach to celebrate for a bit. That is how you found yourself in the public section of the beach. You are content and consider it to be a fulfilling experience." With that, he levitated a rope around them all and activated the portkey.

As soon as they departed, _David _dropped like his strings had been cut.

A heaving and heavily perspiring Harry came from the bushes he had been hiding in. It had been years since he had to control anyone for this long. He had almost lost control during the fight with the Auror. It had been a very close call. He couldn't let himself be seen and if _David _had been taken out, that's exactly what he would have had to do. Taking a few moments to calm his ragged breathing, he went near the emaciated body of his godfather. Sirius was looking somewhat similar to how he'd seen him during his third year. Worse probably, considering he hadn't had a chance to scrounge something edible like he did when he had escaped that hell-hole. Securing Sirius' body with his own using a conjured rope tied around them, he disapparated to plan for the newest complication in his life.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Here is some of the stuff I have used in the chapter, just in case anybody wants to know.
> 
> (*) – There actually is a pub named 'The Quiet Woman' in Earl Sterndale, Buxton. There's a ghostly tale attached to this. Supposedly, the pub is named after a woman called Juthware who was decapitated in the nearby church by her brother. Her body picked up her severed head and placed it upon the altar before finally dying. And now, inevitably, she haunts the place. But at least she does it quietly. Source – Buzzfeed.
> 
> (**) – It refers to Harry controlling David.
> 
> (Obliviate Vinicio) – Similar effects to obliviate, it just works for multiple people at the same time. But the power is a major factor in this case and for every person added to the spell's effect, the power requirement increases exponentially.
> 
> 2\. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask? Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running. Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it. And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting. Thank You. 
> 
> -x-x-x-x-x-


	5. That Son of a B****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

Harry arrived on the front porch of the cottage with his party in tow. The ragged breaths of the scraggy body attached to his made him realise that the journey had most likely woken him up from the blessed peace of unconsciousness and gave his next actions a certain sense of urgency. He could not, under any circumstances allow the man to die. Not on his watch.

Not again.

Flicking his wand he untied the rope and grasped Sirius by the shoulders. He had just managed to drag him for a few meters before his strength failed him. Wishing he could use magic to lift his godfather but knowing the excess magic even if it was in such a minute form could very well cause Sirius' almost depleted core to collapse, he paused to take a breather. A while passed before he continued with a renewed effort as he managed to drag his godfather to the couch at the centre of the room just behind the entry foyer. Heaving because of the struggle, he took a look at the man's frame. Sirius' gaunt face was the first thing that grabbed his attention. The sunken grey eyes were barely open. His skin, almost glued to his bones. The croaking noises coming from his throat were another sign of the debilitating effects of his life while living at the _tender mercies _of the Azkaban guards.

He had only functional knowledge of medical treatments for most magical maladies but what had managed to burrow in his mind were the various imperatives that were required to be followed whilst treating a patient. Everything that he had done yet was in accordance with all those battlefield lessons he had been able to grasp. With that in mind, he decided to do a tally.

_'No external magic indulgence – Check. Breathing obstruction…'_ He took his fingers and lightly pressed them on Sirius' lower ribcage.. _'Yes, a partially collapsed lung. I can't make him lucid now. It's likely his body will go into shock, never mind what could happen to his core.'_

He knew what to do. He had known ever since he brought Sirius back to the cottage. He neither had the resources nor the expertise to deal with the dementor exposure of this magnitude. The only solution, for now, was to put Sirius' body in stasis either by a magically induced coma, which had a complicated procedure of its own or by making him ingest the one thing that he had a dire need of for the next stage of his plan. The Draught of Living Death. The Unspeakables' safe-house had been a treasure trove of essentials required by their operatives in the field. And since he was, at least in principle doing what they stood for, he had no qualms about _borrowing _some of the stuff that had been available. He currently had just a single dose of the potion and it's restorative which was paramount in an undertaking that could very well make his work easier in the long run.

Had Harry not been a leader who had seen more than his share of death or someone who hadn't had to shed his blood every single time he had to get his people the most basest of things to save their lives, he likely wouldn't have thought much about the matter. But, he had, in fact, seen the reality of war, had seen the struggles of humanity for even the simplest of things. And thus, he knew the value of resources at hand. They wouldn't have survived for as long as they did if they had not been careful with their rations much less with their medical supplies.

But the lure of the family was one thing he had never been able to resist. To see the last remnants of his family struggling to even breathe was something he could not bear to see. There was no greater good. Not when it took the blood of your family to achieve it. With a snap decision, he brisked his pace towards the cabinet in the kitchen to find the potion required. Shaking the liquid potion within the flask vigorously, he checked its colour to determine the age. Seeing everything in order, he lifted Sirius' head upwards and dropped seven drops of the liquid into his mouth while massaging his throat with his small fingers.

It took exactly three minutes for Sirius' breathing rate to become lower than normal, a sign of potion working its way through the body in an expectant manner. Hearing no more croaking from his godfather's mouth, he sighed. Things were getting more complicated by the hour. He had to get them back on track. He reached behind the still drugged body of his godfather and surreptitiously pocketed a lock of his hair. For things to reach equilibrium once more, a little _give-and-take_ was needed.

Intending to do exactly that, he strode towards the main door to gather the first party for the exchange.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_ **(At the same time when Harry was in Terance's Drama Company gathering his ** _ _'forces'_ _ **).** _

Seventeen minutes. That is how long he had been listening to the taunts and jeers of his gathered _Fidus_ _Achates _as they bickered and shouted like tenderfoot children. He had tried to explain his reasoning or at least, the reasoning he had thought best to _share_ with them. He had even gone further past his usual Modulus Operandi and had explained _why _the things that had happened had to happen the way they did. While he couldn't explain to them that he had bungled in his duty to save their prophesied saviour, he could and had, _verified_ the _news_ of his _non-existence_ from the beginning hoping to calm their fraught nerves. It hadn't been enough. He wasn't very surprised. It was a huge pill to swallow. To believe a truth that had been posted as an absolute for years and only to learn that the truth had been nothing but a well-manicured lie…it was something that had the capacity to ruin much. But what he was most worried about at the moment was the capacity of this _truth_ to destroy one thing that mattered much to him in these moments.

Their belief in him.

He had spent decades building his image to show himself as a sagacious and well-meaning old warlock who had power in spades _and_ had the brains and control to use it, that too, under deserving circumstances. When he spoke, people listened. This was to be his legacy. His _Guernica_, if you will. And presently, everything he had worked so hard for, was about to slip through his fingers just because of a single competent Death Eater that he had missed.

He had spent long hours both inside and outside of his pensieve trying to identify the voice he had heard in Arabella's memories. It had felt familiar at first and he had been sure that he had, in fact, heard the voice before. But as he listened to it more and more, the memory where he had heard the voice seemed to elude him further and further. It was as if the memory itself had been siphoned from his mind and just the basic knowledge of its existence had been left. After the events of the night when number four had burned down, he had gone back to suss out anything that had not been contaminated by the muggle police and fire department. One of the few things that were still boggling his mind was how the man had known where Harry had lived? He himself had never divulged the exact location of his residence to anyone in the ministry. Even the monitoring devices that the ministry was so fond of installing had been situated there because he had personally altered the ministry records to show that the area around little whinging was occupied by several other magicals including a handful of muggleborns. None could have gained the knowledge of Harry's whereabouts from the Ministerial records. Another thing had caused him more than a little concern was that if by some method that still escaped him, the death eater had been successful in finding Harry's home, how had he crossed the blood wards he himself had erected on the residence.

At least it had boggled him _until_ he had _talked_ to Arabella Figg again.

The memories she had had of the Dursleys abusing the boy had been numerous. The various ways the poor boy had been mishandled belayed counting. She had informed him of some of the circumstances regarding his treatment of the boy and he had watched them for an evening or so. He had seen the boy do menial chores and such but hadn't actually seen his aunt lay a finger on him. Deciding that the chores and work would only cause to make the boy humble and hardworking, he had let the matter be. He hadn't even given much thought to Arabella's further correspondence after that when it had contained within it the subject matter of how the boy was being treated, which had been getting fewer and fewer anyway. Though after seeing her memories, he had known the reason for the failed blood wards. Magic was its most basic sense was a witch or wizard's intent that they and only they had the power to give life and meaning. The boy, ever since he had gained understanding, had known nothing but disdain, contempt and scorn. The ones who had been responsible for giving him the love he deserved hated him for something he didn't even have the knowledge of. The feelings of pain and betrayal he'd have felt must have compounded on the strain the wards were already under.x

The blood wards he had erected around the property had been, in the strictest sense, created for the protection of a family closely related by _blood_. While Pitunea had sufficed as a blood-relation, her relation to Harry was somewhat _stretching_ the terms of the requirements of the wards. The strain on the wards must have been building for quite some time and the night the death eater arrived on the property there mustn't have been enough magic left within it to prevent the attacker from doing harm. It explained much of what had happened and especially how it had happened. The Dursleys had been reported missing and nothing could be salvaged from the charred house. The only thing that was still bothering him was the coincidence of it all. But perhaps, it had been fated. Much of the boy's life had been decided by fate, why would his death be anything different?

It had taken much of his vaunted patience to explain just a smidgen of this to the Minister and much more to make the diversions they had, to keep the public from losing hope. He sincerely believed that had Harry had still been among the living and had realised the magnitude of the situation, he would have understood. Would have even appreciated the decisions he had to make perhaps. It was fortunate thus, that the number of people who had been in the know could be counted on a single hand. There had been some complications at first as could be said with any _tale _that had the propensity to have a multitude of effects all directed towards a goal that was, in fact, a fiction. And with Madame Bones being the head of DMLE, it was difficult to skirt around the edges of the story and relay to her the basics all in the name of a secret operation, the news of which hadn't travelled farther than just his and minister's ears. Dumbledore had reigned her in when he had stated quite firmly that the only reason she hadn't been kept in the loop was because of her own department was one of the places that were being investigated. She had bit her tongue then, but complied. Some of the things had still managed to bungle themselves up when he wasn't looking. Malfoy being named as one being involved in the operation had been something that, while expected from the Minister, had done some damage to his plans. He had had to ignore it though. Especially considering that it would have been nigh on impossible to prove his absence from an investigation that hadn't actually happened. In spite of all the headaches that it had caused, it had brought with itself, a ray of hope which at first had disguised itself as the warning of something much more _sinister_.

The prophecy.

It had gone dark. The singular reason for a prophecy orb to go dark was its turn from being in-play to having reached its conclusion.

At first, he had been afraid that in spite of his calculations, all the machinations, his deduction about it had been incorrect from the very beginning. But then, a thought had struck. What if, the whole reason for the boy to live till now was to provide him with sufficient time? Time to understand the reasons for the Voldemort's continued existence, which he was close enough to unravel? The boy had already _vanquished_ the Dark Lord, had he not? And the Dark Lord had in fact, marked the boy himself. What if the true purpose for the boy to live thus far _was_ _to_ _die_? The prophecy had stated that neither of them could live while the other survived. Which meant that only they themselves were capable of killing each other. Now that the boy was dead, perhaps it was possible to end Tom once and for all. Perhaps, it was a chance for the light to, at last, banish the dark.

The thought did much to calm his still disquiet mind even as he chanced a look towards his still rowing companions. But knowing the time to be limited for what he had planned, he interrupted their arguments simply by standing up from his chair and looking quietly at them. Such was his respect among them even now, that as soon as they spotted him, every single person in the room stilled. When he was sure he had projected enough of his disappointment in their midst, he spoke his thoughts.

"I understand that many things have happened in a small frame of time that has caused you much worry over the state of affairs in our country. It is, as I said before, understandable. I even sympathise with your situation and hold myself accountable for everything that I saw cause to happen. It was, in hindsight, a poor decision on my part to keep this from you. The only thing I have to say in my defence is that I had only thought to keep each and every one of you safe from the oncoming conflict. As it was, there were seventeen casualties as the result of the operation and those included eleven Hit-Wizards that the ministry had hired. As much confidence as I have in your skills, I hope you can understand why I did what I did. Any capable agent of the dark could have and would have broken the sanctity of your mind to gather the information that was up until last week crucial and that is to say nothing of what could have happened to you in the battlefield itself. Now, I know we have a lot of grievances to settle between us and all of you are probably still upset with me. But I have been summoned to the ministry this evening and as such, this decision would have to be, as they say, shelved. We will be having another meeting soon to discuss how we will proceed now that we have a reprieve from the growing darkness. We can even…" He was interrupted by a gruff voice.

"What about the boy, Albus?" Alastor Moody asked standing up from where he had been resting his leg.

"The boy, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked quizzically.

"The boy who _impersonated _Potter. There have been many among us who had met the boy previously. Diggle here has even shaken hands with the boy. Who was he then?"

"Ah! A valid enquiry, old friend. One that I believe you will able to answer yourself. Do you remember the Cuthberts family? It was you who caught the case if my memory serves me."

"Yes, but I don't see…" Moody's eyes widened suddenly as he realised what the statement could have meant.

"Hmm. You see, when Mr Cuthbert was brutally tortured and murdered, there was no evidence to point us towards who could have carried out such a crime. We all knew who it likely was, but there was nothing to prove us right. Mrs Cuthbert was with child at the time. She never really forgot what happened to her husband. When all this was being structured a mere week after Voldemort had been defeated, the Minister's office came up with an idea of using an implant for impersonating the recently deceased babe, Harry Potter. That is how Mrs Cuthbert was approached and asked for her participation. She realised the magnitude of what they were asking her to do but to see her husband's killer apprehended, she did what was necessary. She allowed her year-old son to be given to the Dursleys even as she lived a few houses over to see him. After the events of last week, she agreed for herself and her son to be obliviated of anything and everything that she had done during this period and since then they have been provided new identities to start their life anew somewhere else. As far as I know, she isn't even in Briton anymore." Dumbledore explained as he looked at his old friend over his glasses.

"Hunh! I am surprised you agreed to it though," remarked the grizzled Auror eyeing Dumbledore with a rare look of incredulity.

"I had not been consulted before they decided to take action, Alastor. And when I did find out, it was already too late to prevent it. Any deviation from the proposed plan could have alerted the same people we wished to apprehend. As it was, there were plenty of attempts on the boy's life." Seeing the crowd was silent and contemplating, he moved towards the exit.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I have kept the Minister waiting for long enough. I will notify you all when we will be conducting the next meeting. Good Evening." With that, he departed for the ministry, leaving behind a crowd of strangely pensive magicals.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Dumbledore arrived at the Minister's office to hear the tail end of an argument between the newly promoted _Senior _Undersecretary and the Auror guard assigned to the office.

"…when were you planning on leaving then? It has been three hours since they last reported. Leave now and report back within the hour!" Madam Umbridge whispered harshly to the Aurors who were standing there shuffling nervously.

"Yes, Madam Umbridge." Robards, the head of the Auror guard snapped a quick salute and _ran_ towards the apparition spot with his team in tow.

Seeing something amiss, Dumbledore turned towards her and asked in a gentle voice, "Any problem Madam Undersecretary? I noticed you were quite short with your staff."

"Nothing you can help with Dumbledore. And as I recall, we were to meet at half-past six. It's near seven now. Minister's time is just as important as yours. Do take note of that Chief Warlock." Umbridge snarked.

"Of course. Of course. I shall keep it in mind. I had a query though. The Aurors you have currently sent, am I to assume they are currently heading towards their team members who were assigned for the _task_ we discussed?"

"Yes. And as discussed, we have compiled a list of possible prisoners that we can _say_ were the ones who died if this ever becomes public knowledge. Not that it would, but minister thought it would be prudent to cover all our basics just in case."

"Hmm. Excellent! Is he available at the moment? I had somethings to discuss with him while we wait for other news to arrive." Umbridge tried to say that he wasn't but Dumbledore walked past her even as he was finishing his query. With a scowl on her face, she followed. She didn't trust the old bastard to not hurt the Minister. **Chief Warlock had planned every single step in this so-called operation after all**. She would be stupid not to treat him as a possible threat.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It took him precisely three robberies and a trip back to the cottage before he was satisfied with what he had. There had been a little scare back when the owner of the apothecary had came back early from the emergency Harry had _created _for the man. Apparently, he couldn't trust the medi-wizards to take their time while they checked his wife from something called Gulping Plimpy fever. A little luck and he had been able to sneak out of the shop after filching the required items.

At the moment he was walking towards the door to the basement room where he kept his other _guest_. Coming through and watching the still unconscious frame of Stubby Boardman, he brought out his wand to wake the man. It was when the spell took effect, and the man came to, that Harry cloaked himself in inky smoke to shroud himself from him. With a disguised voice, he addressed Boardman.

"Mister Boardman, it appears there won't be any need to keep you here any longer. I have decided to release you. A little precaution is needed, however. I am hoping you will help me in that regard. Yes?" Without waiting for the man to answer or even acknowledge the statement he carried on. "Excellent. Now, all I need you to do is sit still as **I **give **you** the answers to some of the questions that hadn't even come to your mind. You remember your dear friend Auror Robards, don't you? From the Minister's office? Yes, he was kind enough to _explain_ some things to me when we _happened_ to meet _out of the blue_ last evening. You see, he had known plenty about your favourite past times. Had, in fact, told your _Madam Unders__ecretary _about them when she suggested that you be the one to take Sirius' place. Wonderful man that Robards. Doesn't miss much. Well…not in matters like these. Anyways, We got to chatting that time and when he _told_ me about what it is he had on you that made you agree to their deal, well, colour me impressed Mister Boardman. I have rarely wanted to murder someone as much as I did you at that moment. Nine rapes…two murders. Quite a tally. It is fortunate for you that nobody had caught onto these facts when you were famous, eh? Would have been quite the scandal! Now that we have reached the end of our dalliance there is something that I should tell you. You'd be happy to know that your line will not be ending with you. Miss Catherine Demeure, one of your earlier victims had decided to keep the baby, despite not having any memory of how she'd conceived one. With that news, I believe it is the perfect time to tell you that I have found a perfect solution to both of our problems. I am sure you must be tired of this unwelcomed visit to my humble abode. But first, in case things don't pan out as I have hoped for, and considering that in the current climate I'm not sure it would, a little something is needed."

"What are you going to do to me?" Silence greeted his voice and he grew desperate to communicate with the man who seemed to hold his life in his hands. With a falsely calm demeanour, he tried to reason with the voice. "Hey!… Hey, listen! You can't do this! The whole ministry would be looking for me now. There won't be long before they come here, you know? I won't tell them anything. I haven't even seen your face. Nothing will come of this, I assure you. Just leave me. Please, leave me." Begged the now sobbing man as he pleaded for his life.

"That is correct Mister Boardman. You will not tell them anything. You know why? It simple really. Because there is nothing to tell."

With a dark voice and brutal force, he jabbed his wand to the man's temple and muttered.

**"Legilimens."**

-x-x-x-x-x-

He arrived with a stunned and _morphed_ Boardman back to the beach he had saved Sirius from, a couple of hours ago. He was mildly elated to see the scene exactly as he had left it. The moronic Aurors were still knocked out and there were enough signs to tell that there had definitely been a struggle.

With quick feet and the levitating body of Boardman by his side, he walked towards the boat. Floating the limply hanging body inside it, he took a few steps back. Stubby had changed quite a lot in a span of the last fifteen minutes. The flowing black hair had turned wild and dirty. His clean-shaven face had suddenly grown a grimy beard. His well-fed body had shrunken to look as if he hadn't had a meal in months. It was perfect. Harry had taken a few notes from an ingenious enemy from his past. He didn't know why but he had never quite forgotten a statement from the old meddler about one of the very few lessons he had given him during the end of his fourth year. Harry had asked the headmaster the reason that nobody had noticed the body of Barty Crouch Junior's mother in Barty's cell even when several hours had passed since she had drawn her last breath. It was one of the very few questions that the headmaster had answered to him without mending his words. The effects of the _Polyjuice _potion do not wear off if the person dies with the potion in their system. He remembered being fascinated and horrified at the avenues that thought had conjured in his brain. He had had a singular thought then that had given him another bleak idea about the society he had become a part of. '_The Polyjuice potion was a recipe to create a perfect murder.'_ It was now, that he had gotten the perfect opportunity to implement that knowledge and he had every intention of doing it.

Looking at the body of Boardman now polyjuiced as his godfather, he allowed himself a moment of weakness. It was by choice, that he second-guessed himself, if ever. He hadn't been in a position to do that for quite a while now. But it was times like these when his morality waged war with his rational mind. He knew that leaving Boardman here was probably a death sentence for the former singer. But the fact was, he couldn't feel sympathy for the man. He had wilfully done heinous crimes. While he could do this, the question was… should he?

As he closed his eyes, the screams of his friends bombarded his ears. The bloody visage of the innocents marred his psyche with its heavy imprint. He could not forget. He could not forgive the bastards who had done this. It had been monsters like the man lying at his feet who had taken _her _away from him? Could he condemn him to death? The answer came easier than he had thought. The understanding of their actions gave way to clarity of his own. If it meant saving everything and everyone he had ever loved, he would happily walk on the graves of monsters like these.

He opened his eyes and his wand dropped into his hand from his sleeves. It was time to set the scene. He didn't want the ministry stooges to wait after all.

A few minutes later, as he was turning around to take a look around anything he might have missed, he heard multiple resounding cracks in the distance. Knowing he couldn't tarry, he was just about to disapparate himself when something caught his eye. The rune stones! The ones he had marked for the anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards, he had forgotten about them. Knowing he didn't have enough time and hoping that the incompetence of the ministry would help him somewhat, he applied a disillusionment charm upon himself and started walking briskly towards the other side of the beach while creating a gust of wind from his wand to mask his footprints. A few hundred meters past, he disapparated back to the cottage.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Gawain Robards cursed as he looked at the two unconscious Aurors of his unit. His only reprieve from a burst blood vessel was the similar state of the only person whose life mattered to him at the moment. Walking forwards he tasked his two companions to wake the great lumps as he walked towards the emaciated lump of mass that was the body of one Sirius Orion black. He could see the bloodstains on the rags he wore. His fingers seemed to be broken too from the looks of it. It looked like Black had tried to run from the morons of his unit when they had reached the shore. He walked towards the now awake morons to find the reason behind their untimely nap schedule. As soon as he reached near enough the Aurors who had been massaging their heads stood up and saluted him, as was proper.

"Cap'n. It's all his bloody fault. He was…" that was how far he got before Robards' knee met his stomach.

Looking at the other Auror who visibly flinched as Robards looked at him, he asked, "Now, what happened?"

"He…he…Black that is, tried to run Cap'n. I grabbed him around the back and he somehow got my wand. When Jones here fired a few spells to stun him, Black turned me around and I don't know what happened after that. I suppose I was knocked out." Explained the Auror nervously.

Turning his eyes towards a still wheezing Auror he arched his brows. It was enough for Jones to start spilling the events that transpired.

"When my spell knocked out Bailey, I tried to bind Black, but he was surprisingly nimble on his feet. He dodged my spell. I swear, Cap'n, he couldn't even move onto the boat properly when we grabbed him from Azkaban. We exchanged some spells and finally seeing him slow down I dove to my side and fired a stunner and I suppose a stray spell must have hit me as well as all I remember after that was being woken up by Auror Birtch here."

Robards looked at the beach and saw the various scorched marks on the boat and arrived at a similar conclusion as the report from his unit member. But being a captain he knew to be thorough. He walked past the Aurors and bent down to Black's body where a wand was lying in the sand. Picking up the wand, he brought out his own and muttered, **"Prior Incantato."** Seeing the same spells like the ones described by the Auror, he nodded his head, apparently satisfied with the results. Throwing the Auror's wand in his direction and giving him a stern talking to regarding the safety of keeping his wand, Robards moved towards his real task.

It was a shame that such a prominent and proud House was about to die by his hands. Black had done nothing to him personally. They had moved in different circles even back when he had been an Auror. Potter and Black had been their own team. He had nothing against the man. But orders were orders and he was nothing if not loyal to the ministry. Pointing his wand towards the man he did as he was told.

**"Incendio."** A bright red fire lit Black's whole body as the magical flames ate through the flesh faster than any mundane flames ever could. It took a few minutes but the body that had once belonged to one Sirius Orion Black was reduced to ash.

...

Or so they thought.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes -  
1\. Guernica is a world-famous masterpiece, and the one that most people will look at and know it's Picasso's.
> 
> 2\. Dumbledore at this point in time has not been able to identify harry as a Horcrux. He hasn't even found the real proof of their existence yet. All he has are the tampered memories of Slughorn and a book that contained the text involving Horcruxes that a young Tom Riddle had read.
> 
> 3\. This story will have a strangely competent Umbridge and Fudge. They will not be all-knowing and capable of overthrowing many plans that Harry comes up with. But they will have more than the usual amount of intelligence that they were shown to have in the books. Don't fret though, they are still the same racist and short-minded folks we all love to hate :)
> 
> 4\. When Harry says he met Robards. It means he was the one from whom Harry got the information of the Ministry's plans as he ambushed him on his way to the ministry.
> 
> 5\. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?
> 
> Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running.
> 
> Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it.
> 
> And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting.
> 
> Thank You.
> 
> -x-x-x-x-x-


	6. Of Mending & Settling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

It was a quarter before midnight when an almost inaudible pop interrupted the nightly melodies of the benumbed nocturnal creatures, signalling the arrival of a sweat-soaked Harry at the Kent Cottage House. He was quite visibly tired as he swayed on his feet as he balanced the rough-looking rucksack on his small shoulders. The last trip had taken a lot out of him. The level of control required to manipulate _David _so thoroughly had taken its toll on his mind and with that, his body had followed. His _burrowed_ wand had delivered on its end as well but it obvious to him that the focus medium was on its last legs, at least for _him,_ considering how unusually hot it had gotten ever since he had ended the spell on _David_.

More still, the jaunt had turned out to be a hell of a lot riskier than he had imagined. A tiny little slip-up on his part, that had, in fact, happened, had the capacity to derail most of his already wobbly plans. For all he knew, It still could. He wasn't so sure he was in the clear. There was a very real possibility of someone coming across the runestones that he had left behind in his hurry to get away from the seashore. It was a small mercy that the magic in the stones would not have lasted more than an hour. A scenario where the Aurors led by Robards, had been able to apparate in but not out, would have been disastrous, to say the least. It could not be denied that Robards was less than vigilant when it came to matters such as these but even he would have been hard-pressed to _not_ notice his own squad not being able to disapparate. Now, all he could wish for was for the stones to have either been washed away by the tide or for them to have stopped pulsating. A clear case could be made for either of the scenarios.

He shifted his pack one more time to bring it around onto the table that lined the wall of the front porch as he plonked himself on the stairs. He took a look inside the rucksack and a worried frown touched his lips. It had been a last-minute find. He hadn't been planned on committing any more crimes when he had come across the muggle medical supplies store. A memory had broken loose though and the realisation about the means of recovery for any ailment not being so restrictive anymore had come through (now that he was not living the waking nightmare that had been the last few years of his life). With his _talents, _it wasn't nearly as difficult to do a quick smash-n-grab (without the actual smash) and he had, in his possession, the means to bring some risky rejuvenation into the life of his still comatose godfather. Risky, because it did come with its fair share of problems.

Lessons on battlefield-medicine with his muggleborn companions had been as interesting as they had been deadly. As most of them had not left touch with their muggle roots, they had known of the advancements that had been achieved in the field of muggle-medicine. He himself had found out the hard way that while the essence of dittany did, in fact, pour muscle and flesh as it stiched the sinew back together, it did not, in fact, work well together with the pain relief potions. The feeling of his skin and muscle being ripped apart and stitching back together had been something that he was hoping _not _to ever feel again, as foolish as the hope might be. Even then, there was a time when they all had acclimated themselves to the pain knowing of no other workaround.

Well…most everyone had.

Justin Finch-Fletchley had been a wizard among wizards when it came to the tricky art relating to the composition of chemical compounds. And the resistance had made use of his talents immensely when they had seen what the seemingly clear liquids could do in Justin's little phials. One of the tasks Justin had been assigned apart from figuring out the mechanics of building a muggle bomb and other chemically-operable doodahs was the identification of muggle drugs that worked best together with whatever limited medicare potions they had left available. He had risen to the occasion and had delivered expertly. More so, he had collected those he knew, had a background with the muggle world and had given quite a few lessons on his craft.

One of the lessons Harry remembered learning was the usage of emergency Intravenous drug solutions for the wounded. As a rule, the bodies of magicals had a tendency to use the latent magical charge present within the body as a healing mechanism. There could be no doubt that it was helpful, vital even, but ofttimes it was not enough to keep the life from leaving the body if the injuries were severe enough. Also, it did not bring out the witch or wizard concerned with the jolt that was required for them to get back out into the field and fight for their lives. It had been the reason for more of their casualties than the injuries that put them in the infirmary in the first place.

The resistance did find a solution though.

The muscle booster_(MB-COD)_. A combination of amino acids that affected the part of the brain that released growth hormones. By naturally encouraging the release of HGH, the body responded with several hormonal processes being corrected to put the body into natural fat and muscle building mode. While existing muscle was protected, new muscle cells were constructed to increase its mass. It kept the long-term wounded from atrophying their muscles. That was all theoretical though. It was Justin's able attempt to explain away the catacombs that were the workings of the chemical composition of the compounds involved. More importantly, it was the function of the drugs on _muggle _physiology. On magicals however, a remarkable difference was observed. Where the compound was supposed to trick the brain into releasing the necessary growth hormones, it reacted quite differently to a magical being's physiology. A well-calculated dose increased the levels of cell generation in the affected area by a little more than a hundred and twenty per cent. He had never seen_ her _as excited as _she _was when Justin had proved his theory regarding the drug. A smile on her face had been a rare gem those days. The creating of _COD_ was a revolutionary find that had kept their hearts from sinking during the warring times. But not all was, as it seemed to be.

Turned out, there was a legitimate reason why witches and wizards never used the muggle medicines on themselves _apart_ from the bigotry that ran rampant. And their hubris did take its remittance. They had been so entangled with the discovery that they had failed to realise that some magical somewhere, might have worked on similar if not the exact same premise. There were many talented medi-witches and wizards in the British isles let alone the whole world.

The usual way a muggle medicine worked was by injecting it in the bloodstream as it travelled towards the affected area. Considering that there was a high concentration of magic present within the blood of every magical, it became a very delicate balance. A little difference in the calculated dose and it had the capacity of creating a buildup of saturated magic within the body by bloating the blood, which could either end up with the patient being blown up or an incursion from an unknown infection that increased the blood toxicity to uncontrollable levels, the results of which were luridly nightmarish.

It was this fear, that had stayed their hand when treating their wounded with this cocktail of death. It was unanimously decided upon, to use the _COD _in the most dire of circumstances. A situation that had, in fact, come to pass when the Creevey brothers were brought into the camp with half their bodies torn to shreds, courtesy of the savage mongrel, Fenrir Greyback. The compound had seemed to work for a while before the brothers had started seizing.s They had lost two of their brethren to the torturous deaths of the agony of the affliction, that night. Their screams had seemingly echoed in the cavernous camp for hours after their passing. The visage of their bodies was so feared that even the gruesome death by an over-extended _Cruciatus_ had been welcomed by even the most greenest of their recruits. While they did have more than a few marks in the success column for when the application of _COD_ had worked, it was never established what the difference between the cases had been.

Harry eyed the bag warily as the images of the past flashed through his mind. He had everything he needed for the creation of _COD _in the rucksack.

The question was, could he subject his godfather to the possibility of an agonising death?

Did he have the option to wait for years before Sirius was recovered enough?

Could he let the life of one man, even his own family, turn him from his path?

A familiar irritation grew within him as he pondered over his options. The meddler and his cronies had ruined everything quite spectacularly. Again. The fuckers had no chance against the monster he was up against and even then, they kept barricading the pathways for those who did, in fact, know how to get the job done. He would get the old goat for this latest stunt. He had very specific goals in mind when he had made his mad attempt to re-write the past. While he had etched in his skin and bones to save the world, there was something to be said about what he considered _his_ _world_. Had he been some wet behind his ears greenie Auror with a grandiose image of the wizarding world, he would have attempted and sacrificed much for the goal of saving every single person he could. He would have shed blood and tears till he could not give anymore, to achieve even the most unachievable plans. Fortunately, he had learned his lesson well. And as it was, he was a veteran. A war-torn soul who had lost anything and everything he had ever cared for. His world consisted of a very specific number of people. People whom, he had every intention of keeping alive from the oncoming shit storm that was about to unfold. So, when a meddling old codger decided to throw a wrench in his plans, there was only one way to go.

Through.

Belief and intent. They had worked for him this far, they had no right to fail him now.

With a shaky breath, he stood up and walked inside the cabin. He had a _mass_-_murderer_ to revive.

-x-x-x-x-x-

A raspy breath left his mouth as he came to the land of consciousness. A second passed and a dizzying sensation erupted and nausea set in. A fit of cough and watery eyes was all he got for trying to get up from the surprisingly warm and soft bedding he had had in a very long time. His head moved towards his arms to see some sort of pipe attached to them and a liquid moving to and fro from one end to the other. Odd, really. He had experienced many dreams before, dreams of his failures, dreams of times spent with his best friends, dreams of happy times(little as they were), dreams that haunted him with every single bad happening of his life. Some bizarre dreams had snuck past his psyche as well. But what he had never dreamt before was being connected to a vertical pole that sent strangely warm liquid through his veins that made him feel better than he had felt in all the years since he had been thrown in the hell-hole.

He could feel his mind getting clearer and cleared when the heaviness set in. A very pleasant feeling that soothed all that ailed him. For a second he was sure he could see a beautiful woman in a sexy nurse costume smiling at him as she ate a rat. And suddenly the idea of a nap had never seemed better.

The second time he awoke was in the middle of the night, or so he thought, considering there wasn't a shred of light streaming into this weird place someone had decided put him in. For surely, it wasn't his cell, that much he knew for certain. That place had been mouldy and had had a stench of death and worse embedded within the walls. Whereas, this place was warm and comforting. It didn't steal his thoughts away as soon as he remembered some of the pleasant times he had in his life. Maybe he should find where he was. It shouldn't be too hard getting up. He was feeling much better now anyway. As soon as he made an effort to that end, another bout of heaviness crept in. Maybe a lie-in would be better. The place wasn't going anywhere. At least he hoped not.

-x-x-x-x-x-

While his godfather was enjoying his delirious dreams, Harry was on another one of his outings. He was standing on the edge of a valley that overlooked a children's parks a few feet ahead watching them play around with side smiles on their faces as they greeted each other with welcomed ease. While the sight had been something he had missed sorely, it was not the reason for his presence in a seemingly ordinary park in Heathgate. It was a temptation he hadn't been able to overcome. The surge had travelled through his body with a mountainous force that had overpowered his senses.

He had to see _her._

He had known her for twenty years of his life. Loved her for more than half of it. And mourned her for every waking moment ever since the world had taken her from him. Ever since his jaunt back in time, there had been a continuous struggle within him to get to her, to see her. He had fought it viciously every time. For everything he was doing was for her and their family. For her to be safe, for her to be by his side, he would do everything he could and more.

But he had lost the fight today. The pain had become unbearable. The sudden desire had been unflinching in its ferocity and he had surrendered.

A cry from a vendor nearby broke his thoughts and he walked towards the park. He knew she would be here. Watching. Always watching. Learning. A soul different than her peers. A brainy little wise woman in the body of a child. A chuckle escaped him as he remembered her face when he had first laid eyes on her. A nervous arrogance in her gaze, intelligent eyes thirsting to prove herself in a society that considered her insignificant. She was brilliant. He had told her so numerous times. The world didn't deserve someone like her though. No one did. But she had accepted him. With all his flaws, all his demons, she had accepted him.

A short while later had him sitting on a bench that had a clear sight towards an old fig tree that stood tall and wide near the centre of the park. A few seconds passed before the crowd of people gave way to his sight. His heart skipped a beat as he looked straight at the spot.

She was there.

Sitting cross-legged leaning on the tree. A copy of Mists of Avalon in her hands, as she took in the words with such focus, such passion as if she could see everything happening right before her eyes. One sight and it could not be denied that at that moment, anything and everything that was her, it solely belonged to the words written as if they had come alive within those pages performing for her and her alone.

Many would not see the scene as he would. Many would not feel what it made him feel. Peace. For she was here. Alive. Well.

A sudden hailed voice of warning shout was in the air and he knew what would happen a few moments before it did. A mistimed throw and the trajectory of a solid throwing disk veered towards a collision course with the girl sitting alone by the tree, completely oblivious to the world around her. The cry was enough to rouse the girl from her doings, even so, it was obvious to him that she would be unable to react in time.

A discreet point cast from a slightly resistive wand was all it took to change reality.

The frisbee changed direction as if the wind had picked up at exactly the same time and pulled it away from the girl. A breathy sigh of relief left her lips as she looked at the now downed sporting item. As though the switch had been turned on again, the girl continued her efforts to etch the wonderful world of the book in her mind.

Harry smirked a little as he watched her reading again. With another wave, the frisbee chipped in the middle. Petty? Yes. Was he above it though? _Definitely not_. To see her safe, happy, there was nothing he wouldn't do. He watched her for what seemed like hours before a car pulled up around the edge of the park and a woman came towards the girl. A disappointed frown marred the girl's face as her mother led the girl towards the car without speaking a word.

He had to bite his tongue to keep himself under control. He knew she didn't exactly have a happy home, but to see it for himself? It spoke to something within him. She deserved better, a lot better than a distant father and his trophy wife masquerading as a mother. A worrying frown creased his lips as he looked towards the now retreating car taking away his reason to live.

'Things will change soon enough love. I have you back again. For now, it will have to do. I promise you though, you will have your family waiting for you when you come back.'

With that silent vow, Harry took another look at merrily playing children before he left towards the secluded alleyway.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When he returned from Heathgate he could hear quite murmurings coming from the room his guest had been sleeping in. It surprised him though. While it was quite possible for his godfather to start coming around what with the last dose given to him being his sixth one in the last three days, the state of his body had been severe when he had rescued him four days ago. For his body to have been recovered enough to force him to consciousness was quite a feat. While there was a correlation between the power of a magical and the effects of _COD, _he had not expected Sirius to have retained the level of magic that could help him recover faster than any other average wizard. Maybe the animagus transformations had helped in that respect? Whatever the case, his godfather did seem to be doing rather well. His pale skin had gained a sort of healthy-ish colour. His emaciated body had gained a few muscles and a bit of fat so as to not make it look as if Sirius was a poster child of muggle malnutrition campaigns. All in all, it did untie a knot in his stomach when he saw the man getting better than he had been even in his _past._

The more shrewd part of his mind acknowledged the fact as a valued variable in his recently concocted scheme. There had been a plan for all this before. There had been many variations of plans, in fact, made for certain changes and many of its permutations. They all had been thrown out of the window when he had seen the newspaper a mere three days after his _arrival. _Now, he had to rely on certain aspects that were out of his control. Aspects that he wasn't really sure would react in predictable ways. The plan had most certainly not survived the contact. But he had been a commander of a force of over four hundred soldiers. He knew how to roll with the punches. It was time to change the game plan and he knew one piece that he could move to make it all come together in a way that not even the meddler could find a reason to not believe. It had been _his _plan after all. A dark smirk laced his lips as he thought of what he had planned. It would be perfect in the short term. The man would get his well-deserved freedom. And it was not a small benefit that it would provide him with an **ear **within the inner ranks of the _Ministery of Action._

An abrupt coughing fit from the man laying down brought him out of his thoughts as Harry looked at his now conscious godfather hacking and wheezing as if to expel the excess air in his lungs. It was to be expected actually, the man had been fed through a tube directly into his veins. There was a possibility of fluid segregation in different sections of the lungs, minor as it was. He moved towards the prone man gently so as to not startle him. With slow hands, he lightly pulled Sirius' upwards and added a pillow beneath.

Before Sirius could even say a wheezed "Whaa..", Harry poured the glass with some water and added a straw so as to make it easier for the man to drink. A while passed before Sirius returned his attention towards him. Harry could see questions swirling within his eyes. And he knew just what answers to give. But there was a priority queue in place. First things first. He had to check how Sirius was really doing.

"Mr Black, I know you have questions and I want you to know that you will get every answer that I can give you soon enough. But first, we need to see if you are feeling any better. You can nod if you understand me." Harry asked even as his hands moved towards the prone man's wrist to check his pulse.

When he received a wary nod, Harry began checking him earnestly.

"Do you feel something slightly heavy in your chest, Mr Black?"

A nod.

"It's natural. Probably some excess fluid from the treatment. Don't worry, you will feel better in a moment. I am going to inject something that will help you with most of your issues." When he received a startled look from the man, he sighed. "Mr Black, I assure you, some of my colleagues and I have done extensive tests on the muggle concoction here, it actually improved health among magicals. If you wish I can inject it into myself first, but considering that I am not ill, the compound may affect me adversely. If you would much rather get healed without its usage, then you can choose that as well, though I would advise against that considering there is some time-sensitive information that we have to discuss. Ultimately, it is _your _call."

Sirius looked at the child in front of him as if seeing him for the first time. His vision had been hazy for the first few questions the boy had asked of him. He had thought that the people who had brought him here had either hired a goblin healer or some weird midget medi-wizard. But as he saw him through his clearing sight, he could see that it was, in fact, a boy. He had no idea to whom the child was referring to as 'his colleagues' nor did he have any clue why would anyone give a boy as young as him the responsibility of taking care of a felon. Though there was something in the tone of voice that made Sirius want to really listen to what the boy was saying. He had basically asked him if he wanted to get better sooner or later. Well, that was not even a question that he would take time to consider, but the real question was, could he trust a young boy who may or may not be a figment of his imagination? He mentally shrugged. Meh! Why not. The boy was at least much better company that the soul suckers anyway.

With the decision made, as mentally jarring as it was, he gave his answer in a hoarse voice that made him realise that the years had really not been kind to him.

"I…I'll take…the needle."

The boy nodded at once. "Very well. It doesn't cause any drowsiness so you can still ask me whatever you wish to ask and I will do my best to answer it." Seeing the man agreeable enough, the boy injected the solution into his veins making Sirius flinch a little. "Alright. That's done with. Now, what is it you wish to know, Mr Black?"

Sirius took a moment to form the question. But he knew what he wanted to know, had known it ever since he had been lucid enough to think of the matter.

"Whr…Where is Haee?"

"Your speech will get refined soon, Mr Black. And as for your question, Mr Potter is safe. With the current political scenario, it was considered best for him to move out of the country." Before Sirius could say anything to interject he was silenced as the boy overrode any remark he could have made. "I have been authorised to give you a magical oath stating that the health and safety of Mr Harry Potter is our top priority and he is receiving the best care and teachings that anyone could ask for. And to that effect, I will give you that oath before talking about anything else. Trust is something that we believe needs to be established first and foremost."

With that, the boy held up a wand in his hands and recited an oath to that effect. A slight flash of light signified the oath as binding and true. A quick application of levitation charm proved that the boy had been honest. Sirius looked at the boy again and was surprised to see his eyes that held his attention. They looked too old. Too weary. Deciding to trust the little fella, Sirius asked something that was bothering him ever since he had gained lucidity.

"Who…are…you?"

The boy nodded again and signalled with his hand towards the wall that showed a fading image of a house crest. A simple heraldic display consisting of the shield, on which sat the crest. It was divided into four quadrants each quadrant showing various patterns lining edge to edge. Its base was encircled by a circlet of sequoia leaves. Seeing the uncomprehending look on Sirius' face, the boy explained the crest by formally introducing himself.

"I am Harold Kent, the lone member of the Ancient House of Kent. I believe you know of the house, even if the house itself hasn't been spoken of in quite a few years. I am also much older than I look. I have been assigned this role for the relative ease that it lets me move around the wizarding world. And lastly, I am a member of a small coalition whose main aim is to protect Mr Potter." With that, the boy, now identified as Harold Kent, looked towards Sirius mutely asking for him to ask his inquiries further.

Sirius had heard of the house once or twice before when he had been living with his family in Grimmauld Place, during the _good old days_. It had always been spoken of in the past tense, making him believe that the ancient house had met its end. But seeing a living member in front of him, he supposed not. But it still did not explain how and why did this small boy of all people, had him here. If there had been a change in his sentence shouldn't he be somewhere ministry regulated? Before he could ask, however, Harold gave answers to his unasked questions.

"Mr Black much has changed since you were held in captivity. I will tell you what we have been able to find out, but I suppose we need to clear the air about who _we_ are and what we wish to accomplish here. There are very few of us. You see, we are just average witches and wizards, Mr Black. We are your everyday Joe whom you would not even look twice at, generally. We knew of the location where your godson had been kept ever since the fateful night when the Dark Lord seemingly met his end. We were keeping an eye on him when we could and given what he had done for us we considered it our duty to protect him for forces that meant him harm. In that endeavour, we noticed certain signs that Mr Potter was in far more danger from the people _within_ than any other, and thus we decided to take action. You see after you were sent to Azkaban, Dumbledore gained custody of Mr Potter and decided to stow him away from the eye of the magicals. Only, he didn't go very far. He took him to Mr and Mrs Dursley, I believe they are late Mrs Potter's sister and brother-in-law. Quite a few of us saw him almost on a regular basis whenever Mr Potter was taken out of the house. We saw one of his last living family members giving him the kind of treatment most wouldn't see fit for an animal. We strongly disagreed with what Chief Warlock had done and decided to take him away from the place. We faked an attack on the house and took Mr Potter with us to one of our member's home. We originally planned to give him a home away from the eyes of certain forces that still wanted him harm, but with what happened, we had to change our plans drastically.

As soon as he got news of what had happened, it is our belief, that Albus Dumbledore incorrectly deduced that Mr Potter had died during the attack, exactly as we wanted. I hope as I have given a magical oath to that effect you will believe me when I say that neither myself nor any member of this coalition wish any harm to come to Mr Harry Potter. Yes?"

A crisp nod from Sirius was all he got. Deciding to continue, Harold told Sirius everything that had happened from Dumbledore's response to Harry's _death_ to every action taken by the ministry ever since. When he came to the part where there had been a doppelganger of Sirius' running around he decided to tackle to issue a bit sideways.

"…And as a part of the response to these events, Minister and Chief Warlock concocted a story that said that you yourself had asked to be sentenced, so as to lure the dark lord's forces into thinking that you had in fact been a spy in the midst of the Order." Seeing Sirius' eyebrows shooting up he raised his hand and gave the man the answer of his unasked question.

"Yes, we do know of its existence. Some of our family had been members of the Order of the Phoenix. Coming back to point, after your supposed _self_-_sacrifice_, you were somehow released into ministry's custody and worked on a project that involved luring the remaining death eaters into the house that had been where the _fake_ _Mr Potter_ had been living. As you would have no doubt, been unagreeable with most of the things involved, it was decided to make your supposed self-sacrifice a reality. When we rescued you, Mr Black, Minister's personal Auror-Squad was just about to deliver you to the reapers. As for how they expected to explain your role. Well, I have to say, it was quite ingenious. Something that I nor anyone could expect the ministry to do. We suspect Mr Dumbledore's hand in the machinations, but that's beside the point. You see, they decided to use someone who looks very much like you to portray _you._ Are you familiar with Mr Stubby Boardman?" asked Harold, now looking at a very stoic looking Sirius Black.

Receiving a nod, Harold explained to him how the exchange of Blacks had been made and how they had, just recently, turned it on the ministry.

"Now Mr Black we have come to the part where I will tell you how you can help us keep Mr Potter safe. But before that, there is something that I have for you. When we told Mr Potter about you and that you were his godfather, he was quite naturally upset. He thought that you had betrayed his parents and wanted nothing to do with you. Before all this nonsense about fictional operations of luring out dark forces, one of our members who is a clerk in the DMLE had given us some startling information. His report had said that there were no transcripts of your trial, nor were there any reports stating that you had been captured. It beggared belief that someone, anyone, had just been chucked into that horrid place without receiving a proper trial. We did some digging and came to realise that there were many discrepancies in the story given to the public. When we caught news of their plan to get rid of you, we acted swiftly. During this, one thing was clear, you were innocent of the crimes that had been lobbied against you and most of our findings had supported such. Why the ministry didn't do this with all their resources, I cannot say. But I _can_ tell you this, it was much easier than throwing an innocent into Azkaban and hiding the paper trail."

As he said this, Harold looked towards Sirius to gauge his reaction. He knew it was quite manipulative of him to do this. He had thought and thought about it endlessly during the time Sirius had been unconscious. No matter how many times he recalled his impression of Sirius, he could not figure out why the man had been so passive in his attempts at getting to know his godson. That is until he had gone over the times when he had been with Sirius and by that, he meant really been with him, as two family members getting to know each other after circumstances had kept them apart for years. There was no doubt in his mind that the distance had been caused by few subtle warnings whispered into Sirius' ears by the meddler himself. While Harry could see that he had had an open connection with his nemesis, and as such it would have been prudent to not share any details about the plans involving any war effort, that did not mean that they could not have talked or bonded over anything else. From what he remembered of those days, he had been feeling quite lonely. What with his friends been told not to contact him, stating deficiencies of a secure owl-mail and the ever-present distant relationship with his relatives, he had severely lacked an emotional anchor.

In those times, it would have been quite an assurance if an adult, any adult really, had made inquiries towards his mental health. None had come though. Not from the Weasleys, not from other Order members and certainly not from Sirius. And it certainly had not been because they didn't want to be there for him. It was quite clear now, they all had been following the lead of their leader. Echoing him, without really knowing why.

For him, it had been many years since his godfather had passed. Many years to get over the guilt of causing his death. Years to mourn him. He had not known much about the man in life, but he had done much to understand him in his death. Sirius had been a man run by his emotions. He gave everything to the people that had his love and respect. But it could be a double-edged sword too. As could be shown with his behaviour towards himself and the traitor Pettigrew. It had taken a lot of time and whiskey to settle with that realization.

What he had spent time on, within the last three days though, was ways he could get the man out of his single-minded thinking that one man, any man could do no wrong. It had been quite a few hours before he had unhappily realised that the truth would not ever work completely. The man would consider his loyalty torn between two sides. And considering who the other party was, he was sure that the meddler did have the perfect set of skills to persuade Sirius to give him up. His love for his godson would only work until he was made to think that said godson was not strong enough to deal with an enemy four times his superior, in knowledge and experience. Sirius would unflinchingly betray Harry's trust if it kept Harry safe. And he knew the meddler would realise it sooner or later and grab on to that rope with everything he got. He needed Sirius in heart of the ministry to make him realise that the man he had given his trust had done nothing but break it over and over again.

Hence the ruse.

"It will be, as I have said before, your decision. Mr Potter had us promise him that you would be given the choice and we agreed that making you do something that you didn't wish to do would be counterproductive to what we are trying to accomplish here. And before I forget, Mr Potter gave us a memory to show you. I do not own a pensieve myself and considering it is an uncommon magical artefact, it would not be prudent for us to acquire it for this purpose, but I possess certain skills that would enable me to show you what Mr Potter wished you to see. And as I have taken an oath earlier not to harm you I would proceed with your permission. Furthermore, I am agreeable to give you another oath signifying that the memory itself does come straight from Mr Harry Potter."

Sirius had, in his life, never heard anything similar to the fantastical tale than what the boy was telling him right now. If it hadn't been for the magical oath the boy had taken, he would have rejected it as the fantasies of a deluded mind. But as it was, the boy had, in fact, contested his right to his magic against the fact. If what Harold Kent had said was true, then he and most everyone who had followed the headmaster unquestioningly had been duped in the grandest of ways. Now, hearing that his godson had given these people a message for him, he couldn't help but hold on to the hope that at least his godson had remembered to remember him, even if it had been at the coaxing of these people. Mentally agreeing to think about what it all meant later, he decided to give his consent.

"Another oath wouldn't be necessary, Mr Kent. I believe the kindness you have shown thus far speaks for you better than any oaths ever could. As long as it doesn't cause me any harm, you can do whatever it is required to show me my godson's message." Replied Sirius in a gravelly voice. He had noticed his speech getting better halfway through and had taken it as another positive sign towards the intentions of these people.

Harold nodded in affirmative as he addressed the man sitting at his front. "Of course Mr Black. As I said before, we wish to create a relationship based on trust. We have a lot we have to do together. It would be prudent for us both to have each other's backs. Regardless, I am about to perform a procedure that is based on the mind arts involving a person to infiltrate the mind of another, it is known as Legilimency, do you know of it?"

"Yes. But I do not wish for you to see what I do not want you to. Is there any other way you can show me the message?"

"There might be, Mr Black, but I do not know of it. And considering I am the only available operator in the safe-house these days, you have to either believe me when I say that the procedure would not be invasive in the least or have to content yourself with waiting till you see Mr Potter in person." Harold replied.

"I don't really have a choice then, do I? Do it, Mr Kent. I will trust that you are capable of this procedure without causing me undue harm." Sighed Sirius, shaking his head a little. The more he hoped to gain ground with these people, the more he got under their helpful _favours._

Without missing a beat, the boy brought his wand up and muttered a gentle, **"Legilimens."**

-x-x-x-x-x-

As he saw his godfather come out of the trance, he knew, something had changed within the man. Hopefully, what _Harry_ had asked of him had struck a chord within him. The brief flare of fire he had seen his godfather's eyes did show a lot of promise towards that fact. Hoping to use the feeling, Harry struck the iron while it was still hot.

"I believe there isn't any doubt left, is there, Mr Black?"

Sirius gave as serious a nod as he could while lying on the sofa. "There isn't Mr Kent. Harry mentioned you had something planned for me?"

"Yes, you see at this moment, for _them_, one of the major players in this farce is missing. Mr Boardman. As we switched yours and Mr Boardman's fates by swapping him with you, we also gained a distinct advantage. Before we threw Mr Boardman to the mercy of his employers, we did a deep dive within the man's mind to gather as much intelligence as we could. And considering that you both do have a striking resemblance with each other, we were hoping that you would agree to take his place as…well…as yourself. We have planned for a little _tweaking_ session that would require you to undergo certain modifications of some of your facial features but it is pretty minor. I assure you, that would be the easy part. I realise we are basically asking you to go into the lion's den when you have just left what many would consider to be hell on earth, but it is somewhat of a time-sensitive issue. We can only explain Mr Boardman's absence with what we have planned for only a few days, at most a week. You will still require some more treatment but I think you will feel much much better in the next two days here. After that, we can set up a treatment plan in one of our other safe houses. But like everything else, it will be your decision, Mr Black." Harold explained in a serious manner.

Sirius didn't wait more than a few seconds before he gave his answer. "I will do whatever it takes to keep Harry safe, Mr Kent. Tell me whatever is it I have to do and I will do it. If it means keeping Harry safe, I will do it."

"That is good to hear Mr Black. I apologise if I am out of line here, but I am sure late Mr and Mrs Potter will be proud of you for this. Now…what we need to do is make Mr Boardman's minders believe that there really was an emergency that took him away from them. A predicament where his…_your_ sudden disappearance could be justified. I apologise but I think you would have to channel your inner Black for what we have planned. You see, Mr Boardman was an unidentified criminal who never saw inside of a jail cell much less a courtroom. When we dived into his mind we discovered he frequently raped muggle women and obliviated them after the deed was done. We have identified the women and two of them have passed away after years of struggling and undergoing counselling and therapies. There is one woman, however, who was a recent victim of Mr Boardman's heinous ways. The captain of the Minister's personal Auror guard, Auror Captain Robards, knows of the crimes that Mr Boardman had committed but not the extent. We can use that. All you have to do is…"

-x-x-x-x-x-

**(Four Days Later)**

"…and you thought it was a good idea to stop your search and inform me of your incompetence in person?" Snapped Madam Undersecretary Umbridge at the abashed looking Auror.

"Madam Undersecretary, you asked me to give you _hourly _reports until I could find the man. I thought it prudent to follow the order." Replied the captain.

"Hmm. And what have you got to report besides the failure of your mission?"

"Ma'am we are continuously monitoring the runic charm that we placed on Boardman's cloak. Unfortunately, either Boardman is in a low magical permeance area, or he has found the array and has disabled it. At this point, all we can do is wait, Madam Undersecretary." Informed the Auror.

"Wait…Is that the best you can do Auror Robards? You are here to solve our problems, not give me placid reports of issues that can uproot this administration. The minister wants an answer by this evening Auror Robards. Is that clear?"

"I would do my best ma'am."

A knock interrupted the meeting as a Junior Auror stuck his head inside to ask permission to enter. Swiftly getting inside when ordered, he addressed the Senior Auror in the room.

"Sir, you asked to be informed when the runic charm on a suspect was activated. It just did sir. He is in muggle London at the moment, quite near the ministry in fact. The boys down the floor narrowed it down to Belgrave Road, sir. Do you want me to assemble a team to scoop him up?" Asked the clearly excited Junior Auror.

"That won't be necessary, Ackley. I will handle it personally."

"Yes, sir."

As the excitable little fella left the office, Umbridge ordered the captain in the most severe voice he had ever heard from her. "Get the man Captain and then we can discuss why you thought it was a good idea to inform a whole tracking team of our missing quarry. Dismissed."

With a snap salute, the Auror left the office muttering about skinning the excitable little juniors as he went towards the apparition point. It would be a busy day it seemed.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Robards arrived onto the scene with a sharp crack. It was only the poor aim of his target that saved him from getting his head bashed in as he rounded the corner towards the only room of the flat. Immediately getting back towards the doors, he shouted his identification.

"Stand down, Aurors!"

When the only response he got was a muffled agreement, he decided to come in. What he saw was pretty gnarly. Boardman was holding a knife in one hand as his other carried his wand loosely aimed his way. There was a body of a woman on the bed with a bloody wound on her stomach. He may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but his experience had taught him a lot. He knew what had happened even before Boardman made a pathetic whimpered sound asking for his help.

"What happened here, Boardman? We have been looking for you for a week now. Where have you been?" Asked the Auror roughly.

"I…I was…searching. Looking for someone. Looking for…her." Answered a clearly distraught Stubby.

"What do you mean you were looking for her? Who is she?"

"Brea…Her name is Brea Chadwick. She was…she was my…my lover. She became pregnant a while back. I didn't know. She found the room though. I don't know how she did. But she found my flat…this flat. I was alerted when someone came here and I apparated straight here. She was gone though. There was no one here. I asked the neighbours and they told me that a woman had come by. One of them gave me a…a description of the woman and I knew it was her. I could not forget her. I knew her. I searched for her for days, knowing that if she knew about the flat, she might have seen some other things as well. Somethings of our world, you know? And I…I panicked. I tracked her to her flat and then other places. When I got another alarm that this flat had been accessed again, I came here. She was shouting though. Crying and shouting. Saying that she knew what I had done to her, saying that she knew what I was. I don't know what happened Gawain. I really don't. It was…It was like a red haze came over me and…and next thing I knew, she was lying there and I was here, holding a knife in my hand. I don't know what to do, Gawain. I don't…." The man started sobbing in the middle of the room as he knelt down by the bedside.

Robards looked at the man kneeling beside the dead body of the woman crying his eyes out. He knew the man had been pathetic ever since the office had asked him to do a background check on him. He had known of his _predilections_ well before he had approached him for the job. Madam Undersecretary had brushed away his worries stating that 'a man with things to hide would be more malleable than any other'. He had obeyed wordlessly. And now he was standing here watching that same man weeping about something that he had done. Judging that the importance of the man was much more when he was active than a sobbing mess, he reacted accordingly.

"Get up Stubby. We need to take care of this. Do you own this apartment? Is the lease in your name?" Robards asked forcefully.

"No…I…I obliviated the owner years ago. Nobody even knows it's his place." Answered a still sobbing Stubby as he was manhandled into leave the room in favour of the kitchen.

"Hmm. Good. Now listen to me, you arrived here after you found the alert charm go off. You found the place empty. Then you contacted me about your little problem and I took care of it. Do you understand? Do you… Listen to me damn it! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes…Yes, Gawain. You took care of the problem. I wasn't here for more than a few minutes, anyway. I don't know what happened here after I left," came the words from a still struggling former singer.

"Good. Now, let's go. Muggle Aurors will take care of it." Robards said as he moved the man towards the front door.

With a sharp crack, the duo departed for the ministry.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Samuel Carthwick was a diener at the local morgue in Southwark. He was a man of very few wants and needs. But those few wants were peculiar, to say the least. You see, there aren't many people who like to deal with death. Policemen, Military and the like did it to protect others, others did it due to various other reasons but the Dieners, they did it because, well...someone had to. And Samuel did it because, with dead people, he didn't have to listen to the voices that always put him down. Samuel liked the dead folk. And if these dead people could help others as too, well it was always a plus in his book. So, whenever a business opportunity rose for him to help the living with his _collection of merchandise, _he almost never turned it down. "Nice doing business with ya. If you ever need a body again, you know where to find me," the clerk said jovially.

"Yes, I believe I do. Thank you again for your services, Mr Carthwick," a dark-skinned man thanked Samuel as he walked away after completing their business.

"Yeah. Yeah."

A few blocks away, the man jerked as if coming out of a trance. He felt a little woozy and shook his head to make everything stop spinning. _'Man!… I don't know what Jerry gave me, but that was some scary shit… Better ask if he has some more though.' _were his thoughts thinking the reason for the recent bout of wooziness to be the happy pills provided by his friend Jerry.

A young boy collided with the man going in the opposite direction. "Sorry, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going," the boy apologised fearfully.

"Take care kid. You don't wanna do that this close to the intersection, yeah?"

"Yes sir, I will be more careful."

"Good-man!"

Harry passed the alleyway of the block as he counted the few pound notes he had acquired from the dark-skinned man. 'Meh! Noddles for dinner again it seems.'

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _
> 
> _ _2\. A diener is a morgue worker responsible for handling, moving, and cleaning the corpse (though, at some institutions, dieners perform the entire dissection at autopsy). Dieners are also referred to as morgue attendants, autopsy technicians, and other titles that can vary from region to region._ _
> 
> -x-x-x-x-x-


	7. I know what you did this summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

A week had passed since Harry had _smuggled_ Sirius within the ranks of the Minister's personal staff and he was yet to receive any update regarding his status within the Ministry. While he had expected this to happen, considering Sirius' abrupt departure _and_ arrival in their midst, he was still a little on edge with the silence. Harry knew his godfather was more than likely being watched by the Ministry, but even that rationalization hadn't been enough to overcome the worry he felt in his gut.

It had been a tough decision on his part to lie to Sirius about the state of his being. The conversation that had taken place, as a result, had certainly taken a lot out of him. Even the oath he had taken in front of Sirius to make him believe of his good intentions had taken its toll, mostly because he had struggled with the decision every step of the way. While the oath had edged on a thin line between the truth and _his_ _own_ _perception_ _of_ _it_, it _had_ been accepted by magic. And even then, he had known, going in, that the repercussions of what he was about to do could be catastrophic when it came to the relations between him and his godfather. But the will of the soldier had rallied against the will of an orphan and as it was wont to happen, he had not been able to muster enough support for the orphaned boy who had still yearned for some familial love.

The lives of many against his happiness. Didn't it always come down to this?

No matter what he sacrificed, no matter how much he gave of himself, there was always one more thing, one more mission, one more life to give to save the world from itself. He didn't relish the thought of being _the chosen one_. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. It was a lonely existence with a sprinkle of happiness mixed in. And yet, he had embraced the title, had accepted the job with a determined will, simply because… someone had to. Someone had to make this right. Someone had to take arms and protect those who couldn't protect themselves. But most importantly, someone had to protect what little people that had left in his life from the foulest evil that still roamed the earth. For them, for their happiness, there was no task too heinous and no sacrifice too much. As long as they lived and were happy, he could live with the guilt. He could and _would_ swallow that mass of utter loathing that he felt for himself if it meant _they_ were alive and happy to live their lives.

And it was for these reasons, he had let the soldier within to take the reigns and driven Sirius towards the path that he was currently treading. If the reality of the people that Sirius looked up to wasn't clear to him by standing in their midst, then there was nothing he could do that would steer him away. He had thought long and hard about Sirius' behaviour in his past life. He had played whatever little conversations they had had over and over again in his head. One thing that had jumped at him at once, had been Sirius' reluctance to look out for himself and his last remaining family if it meant going against the words of the meddler. He had freely given the reigns of his godson's life to the old bastard without even saying two words about it. And consequently, he had left Harry no other option than to marinate in the mass of questionable decisions and perilous actions suggested by the machiavellian leader himself, not that they had known his nature then.

To not let his past become Sirius' future, he had needed to make him see, for himself, to whom he had given his allegiance to. It was with this resolve that he had tapered off the part of himself that had been worried sick ever since he had _delivered_ Sirius into Robards' _care_.

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts, he took another look at the table on which sat the reason for new worries, two galleon coins – one of which was a fake – a twenty-pound muggle note and a mouldy torn letter. They were actually the only things that were left of the little stash he had found inside the cottage and what he had been able to filch off of a _street pharmacist_ a while back. The money had been tight for a few days now and his options were limited. While he had an arrangement in mind regarding how to go about increasing the cash flow, he still wanted to ponder some more about any better options than what he had planned.

The letter, however, took his thoughts in a completely different direction. It was important to him… this letter. Not because it contained something that was especially dear to him, no, and not even because it was the reason most of what he had planned had been largely successful. It was of great value to him because it signified the one simple thing that was every man's greatest strength and their most glaring weakness. Something that dwelled in the possibilities. The most powerful emotion anyone could ever possess.

Hope.

The letter carried with it, the faith and dreams of a house so long forgotten that even its name was barely spoken anymore. A house that had given him a new life. A house that he was simply using as a means to an end. An ancient house. _The_ Ancient House of Kent. It wasn't an ennobled one. Nor was it largely popular. It was completely unremarkable in many ways, in fact. It was simply one among many, that had met its end by the hands of time. With the last of its blood carriers being alive over a hundred years in the past. And even all these years, the house still held on to its hope. The walls that lined the place still held a silent promise of acceptance and warmth for those who would embrace it as their own.

_To whom this letter has found its way,_

_We hope this letter finds you well stranger. For it probably has been many years since the wards have weakened enough for you to reach the place we have kept this symbol of our hope. We know not how the world has fared in our absence and we know not the state of the world._

_Does the world still burn in a fiery sunder? Do they still fight for perceived insults? Do the blood feuds still take hold? Do you have a reprieve? Answers to these questions, stranger, we know not. What we know is that it is happening even as I form these words on this parchment._

_We are the last of us, stranger. We are all that is left of the House of Kent. My wife and I. There will be none left in a few months still. We tried to save our name. Oh, we tried, stranger. We did everything we could. But we know now that this curse will take us both. My father's last wish will be left unfulfilled. And if there is a shame that I feel for anything that I have done in my life, it is for this. For not being able to fulfil my duties as the head of my house. A house that is breathing its last breath even as we are. _ _ **She** _ _ has cursed us for what we did to her. She has cursed us to feel the agony of the pain we inflicted on her. But all we had done was save her life. We did not know then, that she was with child. We did not, stranger, I swear on my honour as a Kent, we did not. Had we known…if we had the time…we would have done something, anything to save both her and her child._

_Alas, the past is catching up with us. Our time on these lands is very short after what we did to ourselves to get rid of this curse. Months. Weeks probably. The curse will take us to our end. It is all but certain after what we have uncovered of its origins. But there is still hope. Not for us, no. But for the House of Kent._

_There is hope._

_We do not leave behind riches, stranger. We do not leave behind any material possessions. Time takes those from us all, one way or the other. We leave behind something that makes us who we are. We leave behind our legacy, howsoever insignificant it has been. We leave behind our name, so someone may call us their own again. That is what we offer, stranger. The worse thing that can happen is for someone to be forgotten forever. I beg of you stranger, do not let it come to that. It might have happened so already, I realize, but you stranger, you have the one thing in your possession that could fulfil our last wish. When you open the _ _ **box** _ _, you will know. You will know what we ask of you. And it will not be easy, I know. It is a harsh desire of a dying house that is asking you for this boon. But I implore you, stranger, if you choose not to do it, do not leave _ _ **it** _ _ here for it to rot. Find someone, anyone, who needs it even if you do not. I humbly beg this of you._

_I do not know who will read this. I have no talent for the inner eye. But I do choose to believe. I believe there will be someone, somewhere, who would need what we are leaving behind. I believe that the House of Kent will not suffer its end by the sands of time. I believe…_

It was here that the letter abruptly ended, the rest being torn away, possibly by the elements themselves. The faint half-lines were still visible on the edges as if trying to make one last effort to portray its meaning. There was something incredibly sad about it. Time had taken much from the Kents, their name, their beings, their home, and now… even their last words to the world had been erased from existence.

The find had been an eye-opener for many who had laid eyes on it, back when the resistance had found the ruins of the Manor House that had belonged to the Ancient House. It had been buried in what would have been the living room attached to a masterfully carved wooden box. The box that had remained a mystery to him for a long while. Until _**she **_had taken it upon herself to figure out what had actually happened to the couple and the House. It had taken a while, years actually, but _she_ had found the way. They had lost most of the resistance by that time. There hadn't been any sense of excitement at the achievement when they had no one to share it with. Even, the contents themselves had seemed less than satisfactory at the time. _A single vial of blood_ with some parchment that gave a slight hint of magic still being bound within itself that had barely legible words written on it, in what seemed to be the same blood. They had discarded the find as the foolish hope of a dying man at that point. Not seeing much point in it when the priority had been their survival and acquiring a meal for the few numbers that had left.

In the beginning, they had all despised the pureblood movement with everything they had. Had loathed it with every fibre of their being. But none of them had really understood the real reason behind this level of irrational behaviour from their society apart from the ravings of a madman who had used the dogma to rally gullible fools under his banner. Even then, none of them had really taken the time to sift through their history to figure out why the purebloods were so much against the _mudbloods_, as they called them.

Fear.

Fear of losing themselves to a world that belayed understanding. Fear of disappointing their ancestors by accepting the very same people who had burned and hunted them for being who they were. Fear of being the last of their kind. Fear. It had burrowed itself into the very heart of the community. And that fear had bred anger. Anger towards the world. Anger towards people who were responsible. Muggles. Irrational behaviour caused by a very rational fear.

For the first time, the resistance, the people, the ones who had struggled to overthrow a tyrannic reign of a madman, had given a sliver of thought towards why the monster had gained so much ground in that short of a time. For the first time since they had waged war against the Dark Lord, the group had had a reprieve from being hunted and they had sat down and _talked_. From their experiences of the world to the theories about what could have really happened to the Kents to a great many other things. No one had rallied against someone who had said that not every pureblood had been part of the movement. Nobody had decried anyone for their views whatever they may have been. They had known that every single person who had been present had lost at least one of their loved ones to the mercies of the dark. The session had lasted long in the night. It had been as much for the present as it had been for a hope of a better tomorrow. They had all been so naïve then. So sure that despite the odds, despite everything that had gone wrong until that point, they would pull through. That they would salvage their world and bring about new dawn where equality would reign true.

_'Loss does change a person though, doesn't it? I wouldn't have ever thought that I would stop fighting for this world and here I am, willing to burn it to the ground if it means I can keep **them** safe,'_ Harry thought resolutely.

A few moments passed before he dragged the thoughts that had gotten away from him. He had resources to gather. He had, possibly, gained a very important asset in Sirius with his position in the Ministry but there was much that his godfather could not provide during their current circumstances. Most required of which, at this time, was **gold**.

While magic was capable of many things, things that an average wizard couldn't even comprehend in their current saturated state of mind, it did have its limitations. Some were imposed by nature itself, and some had been the creation of wizards. One such restraint that was levied by the venerable Ministry – handled by a subsection of the Department of Mysteries – was the Financial Gateway Monitoring System or F**Ǥ**MOS, which was essentially a measure to prevent the wizards in the community from stealing wealth from the poor muggles by any of the numerous under-handed schemes that could be applied to do so. While it was highly unusual for a department whose only proclaimed duty was to study and research on various magical phenomenon to monitor gateways for the incomings and outgoings of their gold (at least, on the wizarding side) of their community, it was still largely left in their hands due to reasons many of the community's finest administrators had not been able to find. It was quite eerie too, that whenever the query had taken its hold on the political platform it had been quashed almost immediately by one thing or another. The last attempt being quite a few years ago when the head of a minor department had written a strongly-worded application and had read it out loud in a Wizengamot legislative assembly. The next thing people had heard about him was that he had had to suddenly move his family to the lone Maldives islands due to some medical aid that only people in that region were capable of providing. Nobody had raised a stink since then.

The real reason behind handing the reigns of the matter to DOM was their extracurricular activities. It had been the only department capable of handling the duties of such a central element of their lives without getting into pesky things like greed and embezzlement. The decision had been taken during the times when Ministry had actually been somewhat competent and honestly serving the public had been important to those in power. The DOM, seeing its importance, had accepted the responsibility readily and had kept it ever since.

The administrations since then hadn't ever tried to change the status quo mostly because it had given them a ready-made excuse for their underhanded dealings. Since they weren't the ones directly responsible for handling the money on a large basis except for their own budget, they couldn't possibly be made culpable in any large scale financial scandals capable of besmirching the administration. A so-called perfect defence that had satisfied a few morons who had been smarter than the general sheep of the magical populace. But as they say, in the kingdom of blinds, the one-eyed man is the king and so it was generally accepted.

Harry had pondered over these limitations for many-a-days now. And while it was true that there was a large amount of gold sitting-in in the Black vaults, accessing those riches now would send many alarm bells ringing throughout the Ministry especially since said Ministry was trying to get their hands on said riches.

The monetary resource had been one of the issues he hadn't been able to tackle much back when he was making plans in his past future.

When he had considered relinquishing his old name in favour of anonymity, he had felt more than a little disturbed about what it would all mean for him. Voluntarily making a decision to break his ties with his house, one of the very few things that tied him to his deceased family had been heart-wrenching. His nightmares had taken the form of his dead family cursing and spitting at him for abandoning them, for how he rightly deserved whatever that had happened to him. But the sentimental man had admitted defeat to the pragmatic leader when those same images had been replaced by the eviscerated bodies of the same family by the hands of the demons that had torn his world asunder.

He had given up then.

There really had been no other way. At least none where he could still keep himself attached to the name and hope to achieve most of the segments of his concocted plan. And those elements were paramount. Nothing could be allowed to divert him from reaching them.

Not even himself.

Another thing that had made him grudgingly accept the decision was the lack of major resources that he would be relinquishing along with his family name. House Potter was not an ennobled house. Though it was Ancient by the standards of the society, tracing its origins to the late thirteenth century, their usual lack of ambition and their tendencies to marry below their status hadn't endeared them to those in power and consequently hadn't helped in elevating their status to more than that of a family of average wizards.

And it had suited them just fine.

With the exception of his grandfather, Fleamont Potter, who had invented the famous hair care potion, Sleakeazy, none of the Potters had been very successful in their careers. While they hadn't ever had to scrounge for gold, they hadn't ever had a surplus of it either. Even the earnings from Sleakeazy had dried to a trickle after a bill had been passed in the Wizengamot that allowed the patents of potions of certain nature to be revoked and the method of their creation was made public knowledge. As such, House Potter had less gold in their vault than most thought was possible for a house an old as theirs. Even his own trust vault had been called as such, not because of the existence of a family vault or any such tripe, but simply because his parents – who in spite of being talented in their respective fields, had still earned mediocre emolument for their work – had allowed the goblins to invest small amounts of gold from his vault at the end of each year. It was called a 'trust vault' because it was goblin nomenclature for the vaults for wizards who trusted them with their money. And for that matter, his 'trust vault' only had enough galleons to get him through Hogwarts at any rate, which came down to, at most 64000Ǥ.

More or less pocket change for the players he had to entangle with.

He really needed to talk to Sirius about this. While he had some ideas, some of which were bound to get him some heaps of dosh, he really needed something that was less likely to trip any alarms that DOM might have set up.

As if on queue, the lone fake galleon on the desk vibrated twice and the numbers on the coin shifted to form a familiar sequence.

_'Hmm…So, the **trigger **worked… It hadn't exactly been one of my finest efforts and I wouldn't have been surprised if it hadn't and had just kept itself buried in Sirius' subconscious. But if it works… I might have another avenue for quite a few plans that I'd deemed 'difficult' before. Hmm… Something to think about later, I suppose. Right now, I need to make sure Sirius is alright. I'd have to check him again. It should be safe enough if someone isn't tailing him. And even if someone is tailing him, the place is usually too packed for anything other than a small squad to move around, anyway. Getting inside shouldn't pose a problem then. It'd also be a good idea to have a portkey on me so a fast exit is covered. Don't think it should come to that as things have been quiet from Ministerial front for days now, but it's better to play it safe.'_

With that thought and whistling a slow tune while making a mental list of the things he needed Sirius' help to acquire and then fetching the supplies he needed for him, he left the cottage house a little early. He needed a few things from apothecary other than what he already had in his stock. The _**lunar** **eclipse**_ was a week from now…He'd need those supplies to prepare.

_'A little shopping trip then…How quaint. Let's see what's in surprise for me this week. It's getting fucking tiring, cleaning up these messes. More than likely, I'd need to lay low for a while after this…'_

-x-x-x-x-x-

Amelia Bones was a hardy woman. She had been an Auror since she was eighteen. Ever since then, she had worked relentlessly, day and night, to prove herself worthy of the position she had earned. Her dedication towards her duty was something her peers admired about her greatly and had gained her their respect. She was the kind of woman who knew her limits and if something were to get outside her area of control, she knew how to direct the situation in such a way that it landed well within her reach. She knew how to get her hands dirty and could also play the political game like a cunning diplomat. She had reigned-in many wrongdoers on and off the field with relative ease. After Alastor Moody, she had the highest record for closing cases within the department. In the wizarding world, where a suspect had the means of being around the globe in a matter of minutes, it was quite an achievement. She also held the record for the quickest promotion, twice, a feat that had made her a Senior Auror of the DMLE at the young age of twenty-five, a Master Auror at twenty-nine and the head of the DMLE, what she was now, at thirty-six.

For most, it was an epic achievement, a bragging right in the family parties, a way to gain rooters or many other such things. For her though, it had been a means to an end. While it was not untrue that she was proud of herself and the work she had done, it was also not the reason for which she had applied herself so much. The reason was far…far more primal than any.

Vengeance.

Her most dear wish, one thing that had made her wake up in the morning to face the day, had been her desire, a fiery blaze that stoked her heart to avenge her fallen family by making those cowardly bastards pay for it their blood. She had been a firm believer in the law. She had respected the laws of their community and had worked within those constraints to catch the lawbreakers and prosecuted them. She had believed that if the letter of the law wasn't followed, then anarchy was just a step away. Despite all that. Despite her oath, she also knew, with complete certainty, that if she actually caught even one of the bastards, she wouldn't be able to keep herself from butchering them, most viciously.

Edger and Carter Bones were her brothers. They had been everything to her after the untimely demise of their parents. With only themselves to trust during those times, what with their family business in shambles and their community on the brink of war, they had been very close. They had grieved and mourned, but they had also risen back up. Taking the reigns of the flailing business her brothers had rallied every single worker behind themselves and with her as the youngest Senior Auror of British DMLE, they had raised Bones' family to its former glory as one of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses. They all had found happiness in their family. Edger with his wife and two sons and Carter with his wife and a daughter, they were her most precious treasure. Her love for them was frighteningly potent.

And so had been her grief when she had received news that Edger and his family had been murdered in their manor home while she had been on an assignment. Their bodies had been a horrific sight. It had been as if they had been _**mauled**_ by an animal. There had been blood… so much blood, everywhere. The monsters hadn't even spared the children as their bodies have been found in similar condition as their parents'. The moment she had laid eyes on the scene, it had been as if the world had slipped from beneath her feet and there wasn't an end in sight. The echoes of their voices had rung in her ears for months after the incident.

What had increased her frustrations was that the department hadn't found any suspects, even after a whole month of investigations. While she had been mourning with her last living brother and his family, there hadn't been any progress. Even with it being a high profile case, the murder of the Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House and his family, nothing had come of it. All that it led to was an endless series of interviews and procedures while the real culprits had not even on their radar. The allied Houses hadn't even raised the matter in the 'Mot. Hell, not one of them had even responded to their calls apart from the usual thin worded condolences and gestures that had meant nothing to her. The reason had become clear soon enough.

As the others had followed suit. The Prewetts, McKinnons, Buchanans, Coopers, Ollertons… One after another, all had fallen to the hands of the Dark Lord who called themselves the Death Eaters. Many of the families who had active seats on the Wizengamot and all whose primary heirs were well short of the of-age parameters – and thus not in a position to hold their seats – had been targeted. Even this little tidbit had been her find. The department hadn't been able to connect these simple facts in two fucking months.

Then came that night.

Their master had personally arrived to kill the whole Farley family in a bloody carnage at their own home. The department had received a distress floo-call from the owners before the floo had been disconnected abruptly. A force of nine Aurors had responded to the call with her as the lead-officer.

It hadn't made a difference.

He had played with them all. Had utterly humiliated and killed every last person in her detail… except for her. And just when she had been lying there with her wand out of reach and blood pooling around her, he had given her a parting gift and quietly disapparated. She hadn't even been able to move much less dodge the spell when it had hit her. She had woken up in St. Mungo's three days later. Others had confirmed what she already suspected, he had taken one thing from her which could have given her some hope for a future. He had snatched from her the chance to become a mother.

Even then, her spirit had remained hard as stone. Not a tear was shed even as it shone in her eyes. She had pledged to not let herself give that release until she had gotten her revenge. And this did not hold the strength to take her down. Not even Merlin himself could save the savages from her. Either she would catch them and make them pay or she would die trying.

Or at least, it had been the plan. Until **it** happened.

The Dark Lord was defeated by baby Harry Potter. A child! a one-year-old child had taken the Killing Curse and rebounded it upon its caster. The Potters, however, were only entitled to a single miracle it seemed, as just the babe had survived. She had gotten her marching orders and within a single week, she and her team had secured more than two dozen of the masked savages. About seven others had been put down by her, single-handedly, in the fights that had ensued. She had only recognized one of them. _**Dwight** **Runcorn**._ He had been one of the stupid ones who had decided to stick around and fight when most of them had started to flee when she had raided the compound. She had put a piercing hex between his eyes when he had run out of steam after casting Unforgivables one after another.

Amelia would have delivered more to their graves if she had been alone in the operations. As it was, she had been accompanied by a substantially large Auror force and had had to content herself with who she'd gotten. She had waited for this moment for so long… and now it was well within her grasp. They wouldn't be leaving the cold hard dungeons of Azkaban if she had any breath left in her body. She would plan her revenge then.

But fate had other plans.

While she had been hunting Karkaroff, who had done a runner, along with her mentor Alastor Moody, Crouch had decided to play it fast. Most of the trials had already been conducted well before she had gotten back. More to her shock, most of the savages she had arrested, had been acquitted of all charges. The fucking morons had believed the tripe of the bastards being under the Imperius Curse over cold hard facts and other evidence she had gathered.

She had given up then. Had resigned herself to the monotonous life as just another worker of a corrupt Ministry. She had even received her promotion as the head of DMLE a year after with a bored visage. She would do her duty. She would do what was asked from the chair she occupied, but she would not go any further, would look no further. She would not allow herself to believe again, to hope for justice again. Never.

That had been her sentiments for years after she had accepted her position in life. Until a few days ago…until the Minster had informed her of the secret operation he had conducted working alongside the office of Chief Warlock. And she had been struck dumb. To think, the portly man with a bowler hat, who could barely pass himself as a convenient choice for a peacetime Ministerial role, had done what previous war-hardened administration had utterly failed to do. He had been ruthless enough to use a child as bait and had eradicated the dastardly men who had taken her world from her. She had been so elated that she had even allowed herself to go through the motions when Minister had asked her to play her part in the press conference and field the minimal of questions asked of her by the press. It had been as if the burden that had been on her shoulders for years now, had lessened somewhat. She had even taken up Minister's suggestion and had enjoyed a leave for a couple of days to centre herself and be with her last living family. She had missed much of Susan's childhood. Her niece was growing up fast. It had been cathartic to spend some time with those who loved her with the same passion as she did them. And it was with a content visage that she had returned to her office.

Then the very next day, she had received a list.

A list containing the names of all the casualties of the operation that had recently taken place. As the formal notation of records for the deaths that happened during any investigative or operational procedures was under the purview of her department, it was her duty to sign off on it, which was what she was doing currently before she had to hand it to one of her Seniors for filing in the DMLE records. She had just reached the very last of the names when it all unravelled for her. She read it again, wondering if her recent thoughts had somehow caused her to see it. But it was still there. Written clearly, just like the others but still worlds apart for her to comprehend.

_ **'Dwight Runcorn.'** _

_'It couldn't be. There is no possible way for **him** to have been there. I know I ended him that night. It's a mistake… It has to be. A clerical error, perhaps. Minister's staff isn't known for their perfect record-keeping skills, anyway. Yes. It has to be it.'_

But no matter how much she tried to let go, the thought kept burrowing itself in her mind deeper and deeper. Not even an hour later, she got up from her desk, her mind made. She had to find the reason for **_his_ **name to be on the list before her sanity failed her.

With a determined mind, she jabbed her wand onto the single rune etched on a perch on her desk.

"Miriam, contact the Minister's office. Tell them Senior Auror Robards is to report to my office before the day is out."

"Yes, ma'am!" came the crisp voice of her secretary.

"And make sure I don't have any appointments for the day."

"Yes, ma'am!" Mirium repeated in the affirmative.

As soon as the connection to her secretary was cut, she got up like a coiled spring. It was a simple error. It had to be. From what the Minister had said, the operation had started relatively close to the raids that had happened where she had cut down Runcorn. Some confusion regarding the identification and documentation of bodies could easily have occurred. Or the dicta-quill operator might have made a mistake when copying names from one list to another. Yes, it was plausible. It had happened before. Not that often, but it had happened. Or a hundred other things could have happened. There was no point in fixating on it till she got some answers from Robards. He was the leading officer on Minster's personal Auror Squad, anyway. He would have been there during the operation. He would certainly know.

Before she knew it, three hours had passed by and she had just about dug a trench in the middle of her office with her pacing. A hard knock made her stop in her tracks. She walked back to her desk and got back in her chair before she answered.

"Come in," she responded in a clear voice.

Robards came through the door with a haughty expression on his face. She wasn't surprised. She knew he didn't like her. As long as she had known him, his attitude towards her had always been cold and sometimes even confrontational. She suspected that it was only her seniority that had kept him mum for this long. She had known as much when she had named him as one of the transfers for the 'Ministerial Squad' when the Fudge had been appointed as the new Minister. In fact, it had been one of the primary reasons she had done so. As she looked at him now though, she could tell that something had changed. What that was, she hadn't a clue, but it was almost like Robards knew she held no power over him. Maybe it was time to check that supposition.

"You called?" He drawled in a voice that was clearly portrayed the inconvenience that she had caused him when she had made that appointment.

Raising an elegant brow at him at his casual disrespect, she ignored it in favour of getting her answers. She did, however, take her time before she replied, "I did, Auror Robards," deliberately leaving out his rank hoping to incite him a little. Oh, she knew that he was aware of the tactics, but that didn't mean that they couldn't work on him. Better men than Robards had fallen prey to their self-conceitedness. "I received the casualties list from the Minister's office today. There were some things that I wanted to ask you as the Senior officer of the Squad assigned on the case regarding that."

"Such as?" he asked with a seemingly bored expression.

Had she been a newly minted Auror or anybody else who hadn't conducted as many interrogations as she had, she might have missed the subtle changes in his body language that sprung up as soon as she had asked the question. While he didn't exactly coil his form, his shoulders did tense a little. His right hand that had been lazily sitting on the top of his left, twitched ever so slightly. Ignoring her rising heartbeat, she rallied through.

"Firstly, I wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. The operation conducted by the Ministerial Squad in amalgamation with Chief Warlock and the Minister was one of the most successful ones of the Ministry. Your accomplishment brings honour to the DMLE as well as the minster's office, I'm sure. Also, pardon my curiosity, but you were the one who headed the operation, yes?

"Yes. I did. And Thank you. But I simply did my duty. If there is a credit to be given, it surely lands at the feet of Minister Fudge. He made it all possible. Is that all you wished to know?"

"Right. Well… No. You see, I saw some names on the list that I thought might have been related to some of the pending cases my Aurors are working on. I was hoping you would be able to confirm or deny their involvement in the matter as I am sure that the secret operation of such a scale would have involved substantial surveillance on these people."

"I cannot confirm or deny such things, Madam Bones, as you very well know, the matter is classified and the Minister's or Chief Warlock's offices have sealed all the information under their authority. The only reason you were given this list was that Minister wanted DMLE to have a little say in some of the procedures of the operation. If that is getting a bit difficult for the department then I can certainly inform him of your troubles." He replied stiffly.

"Of course, of course, I understand Auror Robards. There will be no need to tell the Minister anything. I was simply hoping to move along certain cases that had been stuck for months now and since some of the lead suspects in these cases have found their names present on this list, I am a bit stumped as to what do I tell my Aurors, that is all."

"I cannot disclose the details of the operation, Director, you _**know**_ this. Now, was there anything else?"

Amelia knew that if she let it go now, there wasn't much she would be able to do later that would get her the answers she needed. Deliberately lowering her voice, she tried one last play.

"No… nothing." She softly replied.

Just as he was reaching for the door, an audible sigh escaped her lips.

"Auror Robards…" He turned to face her as she took in a deep breath. "…Gawain… I know you don't owe me anything. And from what I have seen, you do not have a high opinion of myself. It's not surprising considering in all my years of service to the Ministry, I have had to thumb a lot of noses. I know that look. But… but I do not fault you for it. I cannot. It is your opinion and you are entitled to it. But just for a minute… just for a little while… I need you to forget about it. Please…" She looked at him demurely.

Robards looked at her for a long while before he replied with a grunt, "What do you want?"

She picked up the list and picked it in a way that the lower half was facing him. "Tell me you made them pay. Please tell me they died begging for mercy. Tell me the years I spent in this place weren't for nothing. Atticus, Conrad, Elias, Montgomery, **Runcorn**… Tell me you slaughtered them like they slaughtered our own. Please, Gawain…" she pleaded as moisture glistened in her eyes.

Gawain Robards was a simple man. A man for whom his duty started and ended at his orders. His father had served the Ministry for forty years before he had passed and had managed to instil the same sense of duty within him. He was a man who did not hold any interest in the fledgeling feelings of the heart. So when he looked at Amelia, a woman who was practically crying and begging him to give her the answers to her long-standing questions, he simply registered it as the foolish behaviour of a weak-willed and broken woman. Knowing that he could shut down that line of questioning with a simple enough lie, he decided to take the opportunity.

"We did, Madam Bones. They died screaming and begging for mercy just like their victims," he replied with a straight fact.

Amelia gave a theatrical shudder at that.

"Truly? Even…Elias, even _Runcorn?_ You killed those monsters, Gawain?" she whispered.

"I **_personally_ **put them down, Madam Bones. **_Both_ **of them. And that is all I can tell you about it. I hope this will be enough to settle your demons. Now, if that is all, I have a suspect in my office that I need to interrogate."With that, he turned around and stepped out of her office without waiting for her to answer.

Had he waited, he would have seen a stunned and horrified head of DMLE standing there with her eyes wide open that even she, with her years of experience and training, couldn't even hope to hide.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Diagon Alley was busy as ever. It probably had to do with the stragglers and the children who had waited for this long to buy their school supplies. School… It seemed forever ago. But it still made him remember his first time when he had visited the place with the gentle half-giant in tow. He had spent many of his years remembering those days. The days when his life wasn't this crazy. Days, where his only worry was if would have a decent meal before he got to sleep. Days, when the school had meant having friends sit alongside him as they unravelled the mysteries of magic together. Sure, there had been a mad-man after them and every year had been a challenge harder than one before, but at least he'd had people with him then. People who trusted him, whom _he _trusted. Now all he had was himself. That is, until he found a way to get _**her **_back to him.

A familiar sight brought his thoughts back to the present. The store was as grimy and filthy as ever. Even the scent of droppings and ordures was just the same as the last time he had visited the place.

'_Magical Menagerie.'_

As he stepped inside, mindful of the baby Runespoors who were lounging on the edge of the doorway to soak in some sun, he could hear the cacophony of quite a few species of magical creatures echoing in the semi-filled shop. He spotted at least three Puffskeins floating around, two Firecrabs snipping at each other, a knot of Horned toads croaking away as if they were conducting their own symphony. He even thought he spied one transforming rabbits sitting on a stool, but before he could see it again, it had already turned into a black top hat. Shaking his head in mild amusement, he approached the owner. Before he could even speak, the man looked at him and scowled.

"Back again, I see," the shopkeeper remarked as he saw him coming into the shop.

"Yes. Is she…"

"No. _She_ ain't here," interrupted the shopkeeper. "Just like _she_ wasn't here the last time you asked _or_ the time before that. You ever gonna tell me how you knew to look for her here?"

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he replied. "I did tell you. A friend of mine said he will drop her at the Menagerie down in Carkitt Market. And he told me that it is the place where _you_ get most of your _supplies. _So, where else could _she_ be _but_ here?!"

"Riiight. A friend told you," the shopkeeper replied, shaking his head in exasperation. "Well, as I said, _she_ ain't here yet. _If _someone drops her, I will hold her for you. But just for a week. Not a day more. Got that?"

Turning away, Harry raised his hand in a vague goodbye gesture while still moving towards the door. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I'll be here."

Once outside the shop, he started walking towards the northern corner of the Alley. Diagon was one of the primary shopping areas for the British Wizarding Community and had plenty of shops stacked throughout the area to show for it. With two more Alleys and a Market adjacent to Diagon, the shopping district was accommodated quite a stretch. Horizont and Knockturn Alleys were in the southern and eastern edge of Diagon while Carkitt Market sat on its northern front. If Diagon _main_, was a hubbub of the crowd then Carkitt was what a muggle would call a multiplex, fitted inside a street that couldn't possibly hold that many shops, if not for some major magical interference. All included, the place engulfed a little more than a mile radius in its occupancy. Size large enough to evade the regularly scheduled Auror surveillance, if one had the know-how of it. Seeing as he was still in his six-year-old body, he didn't really need to resort to such countermeasures. Even still, old habits died hard and just as he eyed a couple of Aurors on the edge of the intersection, he unconsciously slowed his gait until they had moved along.

Harry stopped at the intersection and leaned on a shop front. A discrete glance at both sides, and he was on the move again. Catching sight of a non-descript small bakery with patio seats on the front, he decided to make a stop. Ordering a custard tart and two apple crumbles for his '_still_ _shopping_ _parents'_, he settled in his chair. From where he was, he could clearly see people going in and out of a small tea-house. It came as no surprise to him that it had quite a few number of people going in. The little tea-shop had catered to many over the years and was considered a go-to place for informal meetings by many witches and wizards. Which was _why_ he had _chosen_ this place.

A while passed before he saw _**him**__. _The distance from bakery to the tea shop wasn't much, and he had a good enough vantage point that he could clearly see his quarry coming down the street, fidgeting with their hands. He kept his eyes on him until they entered the little shop. He waited for fifteen more minutes to see if anybody had stood out around the area before he decided to make an approach. Giving a muffled shout as if he was hailing his parents _he had spied just around the corner_, he slammed fifteen sickles down on his table and gave a hearty smile and a thank you to the owner before briskly walking out of the shop.

Walking slightly behind a middle-aged wizard to give an impression of being with him, he managed to get inside without getting noticed. Eyeing the place, it took him two seconds to find the table he was looking for. Taking deliberately slow steps he moved towards the man sitting on a table with a single vacant chair. He contorted his face into a confused frown and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Mister! You've got a stubble," remarked Harry in an innocent voice.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sirius Black was tired. It had been just today that he'd gained _some_ reprieve from the mind-numbing debriefing sessions he had been forced to sit through after the debacle with the woman he had murdered. They had asked him questions after questions about his actions during the week he had been away from their sight and he had answered them all as honestly as he could. He had told them every single thing that had happened, _exactly_ as it had happened. It had surprised him that he could remember everything as if it had happened just yesterday. And when they had asked him to take the truth potion, he didn't know why, but he had readily agreed. He supposed it was because he had known that he had nothing to hide. He _had_ murdered the woman who had been trying to blackmail him, after all. And when he had admitted it to them after they had asked him the question directly, he couldn't understand the reason, but it was as if…as if they had been relieved. An hour of berating about how stupid and rash his actions had been, Robards had let him go. And he had sighed in relief when he had _finally _gotten out of that cramped room.

But of course, that hadn't been the end. After another round of stink eyes and thinly veiled insults from Madam Undersecretary, he had been told that he would be attending the other debriefings on the _operation_ every day so they could make sure he wasn't moving around causing any more trouble.

It had been then and even now, after a whole week, his mind was still conjuring images of the woman he had murdered, looking at him with her empty eyes as blood pooled around her. It was disturbing, to say the least. He hadn't been able to sleep much less do anything else when it had happened for the first time. It was as if his mind was conflicting with itself, trying to purge something that he didn't realize was even there. After the week, when the effects hadn't stopped, he finally decided that a breath of fresh air was needed. Getting out of the new apartment, Robards had set him up with, he walked around _fidgeting_ with a _**galleon**_ he had in his pocket. He had just been walking around the beach for half an hour when he had an irresistible urge to have tea, a very specific tea that was sold by a very specific shop in Carkitt. Unable to shake it off, he had apparated to Diagon's apparition point and moved towards the shop.

And here he was, sitting minding his own business and sipping the tea he had ordered when a kid with confused frown tapped on his shoulder. He was about to respond when the kid said something. He didn't catch what was said as at that moment a piercing pain shot through his head and his head all but slammed on the hard tabletop.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry saw Sirius' eyes going wide and a pained grimace marring his face and he knew, something unexpected had happened. His hand reacted reflexively and he took hold of Sirius' face before it could slam on it. Gently laying it down on the table and using his body as cover, he started casting. Weaving a quick silencing and notice-me-not ward he surreptitiously eyed the customers for any onlookers before taking the chair opposite to his now blacked out godfather.

'_What the fuck happened? Did the __**trigger**__ cause this? I knew it was a rush job and a fairly new technique, but it shouldn't have caused him any pain. While the neural network is complex and his subconscious may have tried to assert the control, but to cause _this_…' _Harry worried. He watched for a few minutes before Sirius' breathing slowed down. Leaning forwards he checked the man's pulse. _'At least his pulse isn't riding high. With the traces of MB-COD still in his system, a stroke would have been catastrophic.'_

Just as he was going over the reasons that may have caused Sirius' break down, the man woke up with a start.

Sirius stood up abruptly, frantically looking around as if searching for something. His arms were flailing about as he tried to keep his balance, which was tough considering he felt like he had drunk Tom the barman's entire stock of firewhisky. He was breathing quite heavily by the time he registered that a boy was holding onto his hand with both of his own, trying to get him to stop moving further from the table. And it took another couple of seconds before he recognized the boy.

"Mr… Mr Kent?" Sirius asked, confused. "Wha's…wha's going on?"

"Easy there, Mr Black," he remarked, helping Sirius get back in his chair. "You had a bit of an... well, let's call it an episode. Just rest for a while. Here, drink this," he said waving his wand over the cup which had Sirius' tea in it, warming it up a little.

Two hot cups of tea and a slice of Banoffee's pie later and half an hour later, Sirius was feeling remarkably better, except for his still mildly throbbing head.

"What happened to me? Before you pried my head open you said the _**trigger**_ would be safe. You said it would help my cover at the ministry. Is this how it was going to help? Hunh, kid? By doing me in?" raved Sirius.

"…"

"Well? Got nothing to say, do ya?"

"I am thinking, Mr Black. To be honest it has got me a little stumped. While I know the likely cause of your selective memory lapse, I still can't figure out how I can prevent that from happening if the _**trigger **_ever has to be used again," Harry replied.

Seeing the frosty look he was receiving from Sirius, and hearing the growled '_Again_?' from him, he sighed and continued. "Mr Black before, as you so eloquently said, 'I pried your head open', you were treated for many, many other ailments that you were suffering from. You were nothing but skin and bones when _**we rescued **__**you**_," he emphasized to make Sirius less likely to interrupt him before he explained the situation in its entirety.

"Your body was significantly damaged, Mr Black. From physical issues like malnutrition to magical ones like damaged core, you had it all. Before we tried to _spring_ you, we had thought of this and as such, the healers in our midst had devised a special treatment for things one might have incurred after years in the Azkaban prison. First, since we had to move you in a delicate state, there was a chance that your body might go into shock, so we dosed you with the draught of living death, to keep your body in stasis. And as you know, Draught of living death is a Grade-2 _restricted_ potion, which can cause all hoards of issues from _melting_ muscle fibres and nerve degradation to _neurological_ issues." He paused to let the man understand the actual risks that had been involved, even if the side effects happened to one in sixty magicals, the combined treatment could have had a cumulative effect on him.

"Then, since we were short on time, we had to inject a muggle drug called Muscle Booster_(MB-Cod)_ in your system. It's actually a misnomer. It doesn't really boost muscle mass in magicals as it does in muggles. During an _incident_ we found that the _MB-CoD_ could increase the rate of cell regeneration in magical beings and was an excellent general restorative, capable enough to make a man who had spent six years in prison at the mercy of the soul-suckers, _you_, to be able to get back on their feet, in a mere week. But that isn't exactly risk-free either. We have had some deaths where we couldn't save some patients even after we administered the drug. Believe me, when I tell you, there is a reason it is known as the Cocktail of Death in our midst," he said as the images of Creevey brothers flashed before his eyes.

"And after that, there were the usual recovery potions like the wit-sharpening potion for restoring your mental acumen, teeth rebuilder for your broken and chipped teeth, Skele-Gro for your broken and misaligned bones and that is _on_ _top_ of the pain potions you were under because of slight change in the bone structure of your face to match up with Boardman's and a whole load of others which could have caused you the symptoms that you were registering a little while ago. We were lucky that Boardman was on the thin side of the scale, else you wouldn't have been able to stand up to the scrutiny.

But… despite all of it, I do think the most correct diagnosis would be that the _combination_ of all these _**and **_the _trigger _in such a short period of timewas the most likely cause of it all."

Harry paused to take a breath and gauged Sirius' reaction to his explanatory tirade. Sirius was looking at him with not a little amount of irritation and confusion on his face. Deciding to explain it in better terms, he elaborated.

"Look, the _trigger_ was more or less an embedded instruction in your brain to make it, and essentially _you_, **believe** the memories that I had implanted in your psyche, as absolute truth. Like the memory of _**you **__killing_ Miss Chadwick, Boardman's _supposed_ ex-paramour. While under the effects of the _trigger_, you honestly believed you _had_ killed her. And since, by your nature, you would have certainly rallied against this, I also had to add some very delicate charm work to prevent you from doing that. Also, I had to add a mild compulsion for you to change the number sequence on that galleon I gave you whenever you felt that you've had a reprieve.

Then came the _really _hard part. I had to suppress your real memories of the week, which you had spent at the cottage house, recovering, with the false ones of you searching for her, and finally managing that, delivering her to death. The final aspect was to establish a _phrase_ – I spoke when I met you just now – unique enough that it wouldn't be used around you before I got to meet you, which would then break the hold of the trigger and give you access to the correct set of your memories.

It was, as you can imagine, a complicated affair. I had to take into consideration your root behaviour and tie in certain _locks_ in place so you didn't deviate from the story. It also involved some major uses of _Confundus_ _Charms_ as well as light behaviour modification. All these things are very volatile when working in an amalgamation and **do not** hold for long once the person realises that they had been behaving in a manner opposite to their inherent nature. Which is why you are only suffering from a simple but severe bout of headache and not running around like a headless chicken thinking you did two different things at the same time and also the reason why your brain isn't leaking out of your ears." Harry could see that Sirius was about to interrupt him and hastened to answer the unasked question.

"Why we did this? And here, when I am saying 'we', I mean _**you**_ and me, Mr Black. Do remember that you _agreed_ to go through with this. I admit I did not stop it, but that is only because it had seemed quite a harmless procedure back then. Had I known that it would cause you the discomfort of this magnitude, I would not have done the procedure. And before you decide to rage anyway, I would also like to remind you that it is because of these precautions that you are not sitting in a Ministry cell right now," he answered before giving the man a pointed stare to emphasize his point.

Sirius looked at him with scrutinizing eyes for what must have been a whole minute. In that minute, he didn't say anything, nor did fall to his need to blink. It was the first time in either of his lives when Harry had seen the intensity of his godfather's stare. The Blacks, all of them, had soulful grey eyes. Eyes capable of delivering everything they held within. Be it their madness or their love, their eyes showed it all. Sirius, after his stint at Azkaban, mirrored this quality of his family quite noticeably, as Harry could clearly see the edges of madness in his gaze as the man pondered over what Harry had done to him and if it had been malicious on his part. While it did send a pang in his heart to see his godfather look at him in such a way, it also signified one more thing. An important thing. Sirius was _starting _to come around to the idea of not believing things at face value even if the people who said those things had done him some major favours. And to Harry, that was an achievement worthy enough that even Sirius' hostile stare wasn't enough to put a damper on it.

As if the world had decided to move again, Sirius' stare relented and the man sighed deeply.

Having a little guilt on his part and seeing Sirius getting tired and withdrawn, he decided to throw his one last card.

"Mr Black, our relationship in this endeavour is based on trust. If that trust is lost on either of our parts, I do not think we will be able to work together. And to clear things, I can give you another oath that I did not and _do_ not want any harm to befall you or Mr Potter. There is already a side in this venture who treats people like chess pieces. I can promise you, it is never our first course of action or second or third for that matter. There is a **war** coming, Mr Black, and the _beings_ who were given the task of taking care of the world, don't care one whit what happens to it, or us all. We are the only ones we've got, Sirius. We _need _to be able to work together." With his peace said, Harry joined his hands on the table, waiting for the man to speak.

For a moment, it didn't look like Sirius had heard him. Then suddenly with a quick flourish, he brought out a wand from his robes and put it on the table, pointing towards Harry.

"No. I will not ask for an oath, _Mr Kent_," he said emphasising the name Harry had given him. "Oaths are finicky at best. My time with you has made me realise that a smart alec like you, would no doubt find a way around them if he was so inclined. I had seen you and pegged you for a snot-nosed kid who had somehow, gained his _first_ _magical majority _a little too early. But even then, the reason that I had agreed for one(oath) before was that it was my only recourse at the time. In the cottage, I had gained clarity after what had felt like a century. Since you were helping me to get better _and_ you did _**seem **_to have Harry's best interest at heart or had I not still felt the largely diminished but still pulsating connection with my godson, that my oath to him as his godfather had given me which told me he was still alive, I would not have let you do things _your_ way…" Sirius paused here to look at Harry with his hard stare again before continuing, "…but it stops now. Whether I show it or not, I _am_ a Black. We are not known to be amenable to those who betray us. Do keep that in mind before you do something as colossally stupid to mess with my mind without knowing the risks again, won't you?"

During his godfather's threat slash speech, Harry had kept his stare levelled at the man with his eyes slightly wide as if he had sprouted another head. He had forgotten something. Sirius was his godfather. His _sworn _godfather. He realised he would have to be careful when dealing with him. But something else struck him too. Never in either of his lives, had Sirius shown the backbone he was showing now. It also made him wonder why and how he hadn't realised this back when he had probed Sirius' mind? Then it came to him, he hadn't really been looking for something back then, just projecting. If Sirius kept his new – at least to him – found attitude, things would get easier in the long run, much easier.

Realising that Sirius had actually posed his threat – question – as one expectant of an answer rather than a rhetorical one, he responded, "It won't happen again, Mr Black. You have my word."

A single nod was all he got. But Sirius did lower the wand after a while.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence where both of them just sipped their tea, Sirius decided to roll the ball again.

"So, what is it?" He asked.

Not understanding the question, Harry simply raised his eyebrows in a gesture that told Sirius to elaborate.

"How is it you can do what you do? Your magic should not be stable enough for you to have this much control yet. Since I haven't seen you do any magic that requires more power than a second-year yet, I can only guess that you specialise in spells that require more control and finesse rather than brute force. Was I right? Did you do what I think you did to reach you magical majority earlier?" Sirius asked, genuinely confused about the abilities of the boy.

Harry sighed into his cup. Sirius was getting too close to things that he hadn't prepared himself to lie for. And to be honest, it was already too much to lie to one of his only remaining family members that he decided to forgo with the usual falsehood and thought it prudent to share something genuine.

"You can call me Harold, Mr Black. I think you have earned that much, at the very least," he started.

"Sirius then," he replied back.

Acknowledging the gesture with a calm nod, Harry spoke again, "As I have told you, I am not as young as I look. I apologise, but I _cannot_ tell you how old I really am…"

"An oath or a vow?" Sirius interrupted.

"…Something like that. And to sate your curiosity, no, I have not yet managed to do what you are thinking of, to achieve my first magical majority that is." Looking to see if Sirius would let his inquisitiveness get the better of him again, he paused. When Sirius did nothing but stared at him expectantly, he relented. "You remember general magical theory for a magicals capacity to do magic? That our magical capacity is the combination of our mental and physical aspect of gathering magic?" he asked Sirius.

"Um…yeah, what of it?" Sirius inquired, confused with the line of questioning.

"Well, I am one of the anomalies of this theory. The most simple way to explain it would be that due to something that I _cannot _speak of, I have far exceeded in attaining my mental capacity for the magical resonance of the world to the standards that far leaves behind my physical capacity for doing magic. In other words, my control outstrips my power levels at this point in time." Harry finished.

Had Sirius been a deranged felon who had escaped prison after more than a decade under his belt and less than half of his mental faculties working, it could be easy to believe that he would have missed it. But a Sirius who was loads better with his daily dose of strengthening solutions which worked for both his body _and_ mind and had not been incarcerated for as long, could clearly see what Harry was trying so hard _not _to say.

"But that doesn't mean you lack the power, does it? It just means it is not on par with your control. And since there is no concept of balance in magical theory, you can potentially wait for _decades _to achieve the power to go with the control that you _have_ gained now." Sirius smirked.

"That may be so, but ask yourself this Sirius, do you think we have years?" And just like that, the slightly calm disposition of their conversation veered off into something serious.

"Way to kill the mood boyo," he remarked before continuing. "Hmm… You said that a war was coming. While I understand that what is happening at the Ministry is surreal, this isn't the first nor I believe would it be the last shady _operation_ that an administration has created to push their own agenda. What makes you think it will escalate to a level to which you are _clearly_ preparing for?" he asked to the now serious-looking kid-wizard.

Harry had thought a lot about how he would be fielding this question if someone ever asked him about it. He had thought of many elaborate theories he could spout of the side of his neck and still keep the people on track. With Sirius though, it all seemed to fall away. Because with him, it was different. Maybe it was because he had admitted to feeling lonely after all the years or maybe it was just a simple fact that he did not _want_ to lie to his family… at least, more than he had to. But whatever it was, it made him realise that telling the truth at this point was prudent. And he did just that.

"Voldemort is alive."

It started with a chortle, then some chuckling and finally Sirius was laughing a full-bellied laugh which would have alerted other customers had it not been for the privacy of the spells weaved on their table. When it finally seemed to have stopped, Sirius looked at him with mirth in his eyes.

"Alright, I have to hear this one. The world _knows_ what happened that night. Voldemort is dead, Harold. Harry destroyed him. I know that Minster's shenanigans have you and your _pals_ spooked, but come on, do you honestly believe that he could have survived that night. I saw Harry in that memory you showed me. I saw his scar. If Harry survived the night, Voldemort couldn't have. And while we are on this, how did you even reach that conclusion in the first place?" Sirius asked confused.

For what felt like the twentieth time during the course of this conversation, Harry sighed. "Two things. First – everyone _knows_ what happened that night is as stupid a logic as everyone _knows_ Mr Potter is dead. Use your head, Sirius. If Mr Potter survived that night, how does it mean that Voldemort didn't? What _proof_ do you have that he died? A black cloak that was left behind? Did they even find his wand? Second – how I reached the decision comes under the category of things I shouldn't tell you."

Sirius blinked. "Wait…_shouldn't _tell me? What's that supposed to mean?" He asked ignoring the jibe at his illogical leap.

"Sirius, for all essence and purposes, you are a spy. If I do tell you everything, it would be like putting all my eggs in one basket. Imagine for one second that you get caught. What then? I'll tell you what. The Ministry will know and more dangerously, _Dumbledore _will know and then you, me and everybody else in this venture would be getting their minds wiped or worse," Harry explained with as much patience as he could. It was wearing him thin, however. He wasn't used to talking to people much yet. This conversation marked the longest conversation he'd had in well over a year and from what he felt, it would be even longer still.

Sirius grimaced a little at that as if he had bitten something bitter. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Also, Dumbledore wouldn't do that. I know him. He wouldn't. You have to get over your fear that Dumbledore would harm you. I know, what they wrote in the papers and I heard what you told me about him but I haven't seen a single shred of proof that the man was involved in anything. He hasn't even come to his office in the Ministry even once ever since I have been there. Had he been the one colluding with the Minister, he would have shown up to those debriefings at least once, some of them seemed important enough for all parties involved to be there. Hell, even Fudge was there with his hat n' everything. It's probably the Ministry using his name to make their lie seem more believable. But I admit I do want to ask him some very pointed questions. Especially, what he was thinking when he put Harry with Lily's sister. And many, many more…but, he has always had a good reason for doing things the way he does. I will talk to the man before I make up my mind one way or the other. Also, I do not like this, Harold. I don't like being a spy. It's just not me. It makes me feel like I am…like I'm…"

"… Like you are doing what Snape did?" Harry finished for him, clenching his fists under the table to ignore the tripe about Dumbledore for now.

Scowling a little, Sirius replied with an affirmed grunt.

Taking a deep breath to stop his rampant thoughts of murdering long-bearded bastards, Harry spoke. "You are not him Sirius. You can _never_ be him. He is a foul, self-serving, bigoted bastard who has destroyed many lives. You are _nothing _like him. Trust me, I know. I may not be able to tell you much but know this… you, Sirius Black, are a good man. I do not doubt that your friends up there are looking at you with proud feelings in their heart. And so should you be. You need to forgive yourself for whatever you think you did. Chasing the _rat_ was more important than you realise and while not as compared to your still crying godson, but then you must have thought that he would be safer with Hagrid than you anyway. Whether you realised it or not, you were grieving Sirius, most likely it was the shock of it all that made you do what you did. I'm sure Mr Potter would forgive you for it just as I am sure that he would be more excited about finally having a loving family member than being angry at you for something he doesn't even remember.

And look at the present, you _agreed _to work inside the lion's den, in spite of knowing that they would most probably send you through the veil the moment they caught you. What does that make you, hunh? Surely…nothing like Severus Snape," Harry finished quietly.

A contemplative Sirius was looking into the distance as He wound down. Harry was just glad that he had been able to make Sirius think about things in his life. It had to be good enough for now. He would attempt to do more later but at present, Sirius needed to come to the given conclusions on his own.

'_Maybe another memory from Harry would do some good?' _he thought.

Harry cleared his throat to catch Sirius' attention. "Let's talk shop then."

Sirius leaned forward on the table a little before he spoke, "Yeah. But first, something's been bugging me for the last hour since the trigger released. You were very specific about which memories you suppressed and planted. What I don't understand is during that time, I _**knew**_ that I was myself, that I was Sirius Black. How come they didn't catch me?"

Blinking in surprise at the question, Harry grinned. "Yeah. I suppose that must be bothering you. Well, the simple answer is… Robards is my bitch."

Seeing the amused but confused look on Sirius' face, he elaborated. "Before I sprung you out of the boat ride from hell, I didn't know exactly what was going on the _inside_ and for some reason, I couldn't contact the _others_ to find out. So for some _three_ days, I was well and truly out of the loop. To resolve this, I had to _accidentally _bump into _Auror Captain _Gawain Robardsin an alley just behind Ministry entrance to catch up. He really has a weak mind. A little pressure and he was singing like a canary. While I don't think my hold on him would have lasted longer than this week, that is all I really needed.

Also, when he grabbed you in that apartment after your _supposed_ week-long leave, I hit him with another compulsion charm to never directly ask you your name. As your name is something you are intimately familiar with, having been called that for as long as you can remember, I could not suppress or dissect it from your mind, which is also the reason that the trigger is a technique that can only be used when the person agrees to let it happen and also for things that are more recent. For other things, there are other behaviour modification spells that the obliviators of the Ministry use on people who have had to be obliviated more than once, to stop them from snooping. Anyway, You said they gave you Veritaserum? Was Robards the one questioning you?"

"Yeees?"

"Did he ask your name during questioning?"

Sirius stared at Harry with his mouth open. "No. He didn't. So you… That's why he…"

"Yup," Harry replied, still grinning.

"Man! You're one scary kid." Sirius remarked trying and failing to smother a chuckle.

"Anyway, what did you find out at the Ministry?" Harry asked getting a little serious.

"Well, there are eight people in the Minister's personal staff. His Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, another Undersecretary, Alvina Afton – for Merlin knows what reason, I have never seen that woman work the entire time I was there. Then there are the six Aurors that answer directly to Fudge with apparently your _bitch_, Robards as their captain. These six people know of the _exchange_ that they _believe_ they have pulled off successfully. Also, it was supposedly Umbridge's idea to spin-off the attack on Privet Drive as an undercover operation going on for years. They have even pushed for commendations for all six Aurors and even Lucy Malfoy for some reason and for me too, I suppose." Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "Yeah. I know. Surprised me too. They are going to great lengths to make this seem like a legitimate operation, aren't they?" Sirius semi-asked.

Not even wondering along the same lines of thought as his godfather, he muttered a muffled yes before asking a question of his own.

"Anything else?"

Sirius paused to think on something for a few seconds before he spoke, "Well, there is…but I don't know how it even matters considering the thing will be stuck in limbo for a long time before they are able to get anything out of it. It's about the Black Vaults in Gringotts. The Ministry thinks that since the last legitimate Black is dead, they would be able to access the vaults. Goblins, obviously, disagree. Dirk Creswell, Head of the Goblin liaison office, he nearly pissed himself when that pink wearing harridan called him in the debriefing room and all but shouted at him for delaying her _darling Minister's _orders," Sirius answered.

Harry had been worried about this for weeks now. Goblin culture, outside the battle, wasn't as honourable as they made the wizards believe. While they did not ever outright steal from their own account holders, there were rumours of a few clans in Gringotts that tended to side with the wizards as long as they were given their _fair _share. While the practice was said to have been curbed during the time when Boneslaw Ragnok of the Boneslaw clan had fought and won to the right to be their King – which was now, at this point in time – they never knew for certain what had gone on inside the mined halls of the Sovereign Nation. And thus he couldn't use this knowledge to make any sturdy plans. Looking at Sirius, he decided to impress upon his godfather the truth of the matter.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Sirius. Whatever goblins may be, they have their own sense of honour, we really cannot expect them to keep saying no to the ministry. I suppose as you've never even donned on your Heir ring, you wouldn't know anything about who among the goblins tended to the Black accounts?"

"No, I don't. When father acceded to become the Head of the house, I had been in my fifth year at Hogwarts. During the holidays, when I came back, I heard that they had decided to support their precious Dark Lord. It was during that year I was supposed to be taken to Gringotts to don my ring. Some stuff happened and I went to live with the Potters. Since I had never been inside Gringotts other than to withdraw some money, I have no clue who handles the Black accounts." Sirius explained.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Well, it's going to be a difficult job to openly wrestle the control of the vaults with the Ministry. Hang on, how are they paying you now?"

"Oh, they have set up a stipend for me from the _operational budget_. The fuckers are taking the money from DMLE's budget and putting it in their pockets. Mine too, I suppose. I am guessing Director Bones found out about this recently, I was in the room when that Afton woman came and told Robards that Madam Bones had asked to see him urgently."

This caught Harry's interest. He was asking a follow-up question as soon as Sirius stopped talking. "Bones asked for Robards specifically? Did you get to hear why?"

"No. Why? Is it important?" Sirius asked, bemused.

"It could be Sirius. I have something in play there. You see, the last instruction that I gave Robards was to add a specific name on to a _**list**_ he was making for her department. Never mind that, the point is, till we get the Black Vaults in your control, we are running on fumes, Sirius. The last of my cache was spent on getting the supplies for your potions. I have just got…" he reversed his pockets on the table "…two sickles left. I do have something in mind to change this but I would need your help with that. Also, I need half of your stipend…" he paused.

Sirius looked at him like he had asked him for a kidney. "You need _half_ of the pitiful stipend they are giving me? Half? Do you know how much my stipend is?" without waiting for a response he continued. "200Ǥ, Kent. 200Ǥ for a whole fucking month. You want me to give you 100Ǥ. Just like that?… You know…I was…What do you even need it for?" he grumbled.

Harry scowled at him at that. "It's not even your money, you _mutt. _And I already told you, I would need your help with what I have planned so you would know it either way. But for now, I need it to buy some potion ingredients. I need to prepare something for the _lunar eclipse _next week."

Sirius stiffened for a moment when he heard Harry call him a '_mutt'_. He narrowed his eyes before sighing and shaking his head a little. "Alright. But just a hundred. And just this once. The potions you gave me for my recovery are running low, I'd have to buy more soon. And…" He stopped when he saw Harry was looking at him with a dumbfounded expression. Getting annoyed at that, Sirius asked. "What?"

"You…you have been throwing away the empty potion vials?" Harry asked still looking at Sirius in that strange open-eyed manner.

"Yeees. They were empty. That is what you do with empty vials, you throw them, I suppose one could vanish it too, but that's just being lazy."

Harry answered with gritted teeth. "No, Mr Black, that is most certainly _not_ what you do with an empty potion vial that a healer gives you. You see they have a charm on them, so they refill automatically, till your healer finds it appropriate." He paused to take a deep breath and also to stop himself from magically cuffing his godfather back at the head. "Give me a list of what you have thrown away already, I'll give you the replacements. And from now on, if a potion vial is running low, just tap on it with your wand, it will refill itself. Seriously, Sirius. I have been in the magical world for a lot less time than you have, how do I know this and you don't?"

Sirius gave him a sheepish chuckle and brought out a vial of which had a sliver of purplish potion left in it. He had to tap it _twice_ before the vial refilled itself with the strengthening solution. Harry was watching him do this and when he looked closely at the wand, it suddenly hit him.

Sirius didn't have his own wand. And he was inside the Ministry for a whole _week_. How the _fuck_ had he missed that?

Looking at Sirius sharply, he decided to address the problem before it got his godfather killed. "Sirius, I am sorry. I…It just slipped my mind. I didn't realise it until just now. But you're here. We will take care of it right now. I think I…"

"Take care of what? Why are you saying you're sorry? Just hold on a minute. Explain." Sirius interrupted.

"I didn't realise that you don't have your own wand. Yours was destroyed, I think. You have had to use Boardman's for a week and I had sent you there. It's not the kind of thing I am used to missing, Sirius. And it's not the first thing I have missed either. I need to stop doing this," Harry explained, peevishly.

By the time he had finished, Sirius was looking at him with a slight frown. Shaking his head he addressed the kid-wizard again. "Well…it alright. Nothing happened, right? I am still here. Handsome as ever. But we do have to take care of this. I can't be inside that place without a wand suited to me. I can't believe the thought didn't register in my head and I was the one using the damn thing."

"We can fix this. What do you remember of your old wand?" asked Harry.

"Ah! That beauty. You know, it was actually the first wand in two generations of Blacks that didn't come from the family vaults. Mother had to take me to Ollivanders to get me my own. She was right snippy the whole way too. It had taken the old man around fifteen minutes to get me my match. I think he was delaying on purpose, just to see her get more and more frustrated. But when he gave me that ol' thing… I still remember feeling whole again. Like I had gained a part of me I didn't even know I was missing. Ebony, slightly bendy, fourteen inches having its core as a dragon heartstring, one from an exceptionally Wily Swedish Short-Snout, or so Ollivander told me," he said in a slightly melancholic voice.

Harry was looking at the wand in his hand as he mentally checked the boxes for its similarities with the wand Sirius was describing. He still didn't have a clue what the wand he was using carried as it's core, but most other things were almost an exact match. Deciding to check his theory, he slid the wand on the table towards Sirius.

Sirius raised a brow at that. "What? You think yours will work better than what I am using now?"

"I don't really know. But it seems to check at least two of the characteristics of your old one. And it's not really mine. Go ahead, give it wave," he said encouragingly.

Sirius looked sceptically at the wand but picked it up. A few sparks shot out of the wand as soon as he gave it a wave.

Harry looked at him with a small smile as he remarked, "You were saying…"

Having calmed down after the familiar warm feeling had subsided within him, Sirius opened his eyes. "That was a rush. Didn't think, I would still remember how it felt when I had my wand in my hand for the first time back after all that time in Azkaban. I was never able to hold on to that feeling in there. Every night they allowed the Dementors to roam outside the cells. Like they were deliberately purging any coherent or solid memory I could muster to keep myself from giving up. Most nights, I used to turn in…" he paused as if struggling with something and then sighed. "Well, it's resisting me a bit, I can feel it. But it is still much, much better than the old one. Are you giving me this then?" he eventually asked.

"Yeah. Can't have you walking in the Ministry with that…" he waved his hand towards Boardman's brownish wand "…in your hand, can I?! I will think of something for myself. A point of note, do _not_ ever bring this wand out in front of an Unspeakable. Don't ask me why. Just don't do it. Also, it has a magical discharge dampening array etched onto it. It helps with low to medium powered spells. And now, how good are you with binding transfigurations?"

Scratching his chin as he pondered the question, he replied, "Pretty good, I think? In our year, only James was better at it than I was and that is because he was just _insane_ with what he could do with his wand when it came to transfiguration. Why do you ask?"

Harry didn't say anything for a while. He was actually imagining his father doing something spectacularly stupid with his transfiguration skills to impress his mother. Others had told him, that he had, in fact, done just that, and more than once. Hearing Sirius say it, brought out a happy little smile on his face. And then he remembered his godfather had asked him a query.

"I just thought it would be better if _you_ transfigured _your_ new wand to look like Boardman's. The runic array will not be affected but it will still be visible if someone looked at your wand closely. So, don't let it get to that. Yeah?"

"Alright. Let's do this." Three tries with a now thoroughly resisting brown wand later, Sirius had managed to get it just right enough to pass scrutiny. "That took a shit load of power," he grumbled.

"A wand which doesn't owe you it's allegiance would always resist you every step of the way unless it bonds with you. Like you did with your new one. Anyways, I have a task for you."

"What task?" Sirius asked, intrigued.

"In a few days, Bones will try to send a few feelers out, it would be subtle but now that I have told you about it, you'd be able to tell when she is doing it. If she does it before the _lunar_ _eclipse _next week, make contact with her. Slowly. Remember this Sirius. You are not there to charm her pants off. For her, you will be a mark she is trying to get the information from. She just won't know that you _want _to give her that information. Tell her little things that would pique her interest but don't show her your hand. It needs to be delicate. Director Bones would not like it when she finds out she's been played. And therefore, you will be respectful of her station and intelligence."

That got Sirius' attention. It was the first thing that Harold had asked him to do. And boy, it was a biggie. Amelia Bones was as ferocious as she was cunning. To try to deceive her…it was a tall order. But he would do it. Even if it was to find out what Harold was planning, he would charm…unh…persuade, the Director to do their bidding. He was, after all, Sirius _fucking_ Black and there was no woman who could say no to him. Well, except his mother, or that crazy bitch Bellatrix, or Narcissa, or that girl from the sixth year. Meh! So there were _some_ women who could say no to him, but most couldn't. As he said. He was Sirius _fu…"_

"Yeah, are you done with that? Sirius, even if I was a wet behind the year firstie, I would still have been able to _see_ that monologue that was running in your head. You were damn near projecting it. Close your head. And remember what I said. She is dangerous. She will eat you and then come for me. Capisce, Sirius _fucking _Black?" Harry interrupted.

"Hehe…Yeah, Got it," replied his sheepishly smiling godfather.

Shaking his head at the technically-older man-child's antics, he sighed.

They talked some more about other less important things after that. A couple of hours later, as the meeting was wounding down, Harry decided to ask the important question.

"So…about that 100Ǥ…"

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Damn! That was a big one. Review the story, please. While I would do it either way but I have recently realised that it does make me want to write more when I see people are appreciating this. Also, I have foreshadowed and hinted at more than a few things in this chapter. For those who get it right, there will be a…big ass thumbs-up waiting in their PM inbox. :P
> 
> (Ǥ) – Galleon
> 
> Thanks. Stay Tuned for more.
> 
> 2\. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?
> 
> Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running.
> 
> Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it.
> 
> And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting.
> 
> Thank You.
> 
> -x-x-x-x-x-


	8. Carpe diem – seize the cheque &...sors? Part-1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

Her eyes opened, blue and shining, looking at the world anew. It was the first morning since her _awakening_. And if the _great mother_ blessed her, it would be the first of many in this world. For it was a world on the brink of change. A change she had been awakened to prevent. Nothing could be allowed to be different. Even if it was, at present, moving similar to a time it had millennia ago. A time her mistress had done her best to erase from existence. A time of false peace and the supposed free will of her _servants_. These misguided feelings could not be allowed to bloom again. Things had to go back to the way they were. Before he, _the_ _heathen_, had mangled her mistress' work and unravelled the _weave_. He who wrought lies and still called himself the paragon of truth. He who wished to deliver the truth to the masses. A truth they could not be allowed to know. A truth she herself had denied as her own.

But try as though she might, she couldn't deny some truths. Like how she herself had changed since receiving the blessings of the _great_ _mother_. Like how her eyes had opened to the real beauty of the world. How the colours were more vibrant. How the melody of the universe was louder. She could hear it clearly now. And all because she had been chosen. Because the _great_ _mother_, her mistress, had chosen her to be her mouthpiece. She was deliriously happy. None on this earth could comprehend the worth of her station.

But she would make them.

Yes, she would…she had to. Her mistress had whispered her commands in her ears just last night. She would not fail her. Yes. She would gather her brothers and sisters and they would march to the gates of hell if they had to. Her mistress' will be done. The _**fate-marked**_ would see to it.

The woman got up from her bed, unfurling her blonde hair and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her shining amethyst eyes. She had to get to her set task. There was no time to waste. Not if it kept her mistress waiting. The **mark** on her inner forearm, a hieroglyph depicting _**The**_ _**Ankh**_, surged awake as if to signify her mistress' pleasure at hearing those thoughts. The gold shimmering mark was the badge she wore with pride. It was proof that she had the _great_ _mother's_ favour. And she would do her proud. She would do whatever it took to eviscerate the _heathen_ who had disrupted her mistress' plans.

_Whatever _it took.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_"… We want that money, Lebowski. Bunny said ye were good for it …"_  
_"Where's the money, Lebowski! ..."_  
_"… Don't fuck with us. If yoh wife owes money to Jackie Treehorn, that means youh owe money to Jackie Treehorn …"_  
_"Eh ohye, ain't nobody calls me Lebowski, ya toe-rugger. You've gat the wrong guy. I'm the Dude, ya moron…"_  
_"…Your name is Lebowski. Your wife is Bunny, boyo. Ain't nothin' can fool this eye o' mine…"_

It was the second time he was reading it. His eyes kept blinking, hoping that it would change into something…well, something that actually made sense. But after his _third_ read, when he still couldn't quite get his mind around the words that were on the parchment his proudly smiling godfather had given him a minute ago, he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled audibly.

It had been three days since they had met on the quaint little tea-shop on the edge of Carkitt. And in those three days, they had met twice more to discuss the latest happenings on the ministerial front – which had mostly served as a stage for Sirius to lay out his complaints about the matter posing them as actual _actionable_ _intel_ – during which, Harry had found out one thing that had been bothering him ever since he had read the excerpt in the Daily Prophet where the Minister's goons had interrogated Boardman in front of the press. Turned out, they had intentionally used the play by play in such a way, for their advantage. Having Madam Bones there would have kept more sceptical of the reporters from judging the veracity of the potion they had been _told _was Veritaserum. And Madam Bones, being left out of the loop, it had made it easier for them to push it past her without getting her suspicious. As for the Serum used in Boardman's public interview, it had, in fact, been a simple sedative that had the tendency of making the drinker a bit glassy-eyed. Stubby Boardman, during that public interview, had not been under the effects of a truth potion of any kind. Which easily explained the successful subterfuge.

Sirius hadn't been amused when he had discovered that. The bastard had spouted off shite about his deceased friends. He wasn't likely to forgive that, nor forget, it seemed, judging by the look on his face.

Harry was sure that the whole thing stank of meddler's touch. And the fact that Minister's goons had been able to pull off such a stunt in front of DMLE Head's very eyes, while this had made his doubts about her capability that much more credible, it still hadn't been enough for him to stop his plans for the Bones' Regent. Either she was involved, which was highly unlikely, or she was getting rusty and borderline incompetent, which was equally bad for his budding plans or any possible working relationship between the two of them.

After the shop-talk, as it were, Harry had filled Sirius in on his plan to solve their money problem.

He had been, quite frankly, not surprised to see the bewildered look he had received from Sirius after he had given a detailed explanation about how they were going to get their hands on some _dosh_. Every single person in the British magical community had had hammered into their brains, at an early age, the consequences of taking on the Departement of Mysteries' F**Ǥ**MOS (Financial Ǥateway Monitoring System) Unit. The person who had disappeared off to lone Maldives islands had only been the _latest_ example of what happened when one messed with the DOM personnel and their duties. That this _latest_ example had been around a hundred and fifty years in the past and that not a single person had staged any such tactic ever since, easily explained the severity of its effects. Attesting to that belief was their history which was filled with numerous warnings cloaked as _speculations_ about the morons who had tried to outsmart the F**Ǥ**MOS unit and had spent the rest of their lives in utter misery.

By the time he had explained everything about his scheme, Harry was sure that he wasn't leaving a very sane image of himself in Sirius' head. But he had taken that into account when he had thought of clueing his well-meaning but-still-a-pureblooded-wizard godfather into his plan. It hadn't been an easy sell, but he had managed to get Sirius to do the barest minimum possible which wouldn't involve getting on DOM agents' bad side. Yet.

And the fact was, there _was_ a window available to them in the coming days. While it _was_ filled with many variables that his head hurt just to keep account of them all, and while it _was_ closing fast, it **was** also the _**least**_ dangerous plan he could come up with given their restrictions.

What he _hadn't_ considered though, was the level of stupidity even most sharp magicals could stoop to, when it came to anything – muggle. When he had asked Sirius to do some research on the people whom they were going to be involved with, he had expected the man to roam around the shrouded streets of London to familiarize himself with the slangs and terms that muggles used in their day to day lives. Of course that had been a stupid expectation when considering whom he was dealing with, but still, he had held on to a slender strand of hope.

He shouldn't have.

Case and point, Sirius' idea of _research_ had been a series of muggle films portraying their targets in the most imbecilic way possible. For what felt like his hundredth sigh that day, a sight quite bizarre on the face of a six-year-old, Harry clamped down on his frustration. He had to remember that Sirius while being an intelligent wizard, was still _just_ that, a wizard. And a pureblood wizard at that. In spite of his _leanings_ in his youth and later, the only muggle exposure the man had gotten had been by the way of Lily Potter née Evans. With what he had been told by others – who had known them during that time of their lives – while she had been adamant on keeping in touch with her muggle roots, the instability caused by the war had made it quite an impossibility for her, and thus, by extension, for Sirius and others as well.

With that thought in mind, Harry resigned himself to explain to Sirius the nuances of proper research mediums when it came to the kind of muggles they were going to be dealing with.

"Sit down on the couch, Sirius and stop grinning like a buffoon," he barked impatiently. Just because he understood his godfather's situation did not mean that he was happy that he had found himself saddled with yet another task in this already complex endeavour.

Wearing a confused frown, Sirius did as told but not without voicing out his displeasure. "What? This isn't good enough for you? I had to stand in a queue to get the tickets for the damn cinema, you know."

"Oh, you had to stand in a queue, did ya? Oh, I am so sorry you had to go through that. Can I get you something? A Soda? A lemonade perhaps?" Harry grouched sarcastically, for once showing his displeasure at having to micromanage everything.

Sirius showed he really wasn't above showing a _kid_ – the finger.

"Yeah, up yours too. Now listen. This crap isn't gonna fly, Sirius. This," he gestured towards the parchment, "will get us castrated by the bluntest of their knives. These men aren't known for their merciful nature nor their patience. If what I have seen in the muggle newspapers are to be believed, their police have recently discovered the body of a fifteen-year-old girl in the area they are supposed to be operating within. If they are willing to do this to innocent children what do you think those butchers will do to us if we are found out," when he saw Sirius trying to interrupt him with what he knew would be his go-to argument, he hurridly overrode the man. "And yes I know, we could wipe the floor with them between the two of us with one hand tied behind our backs with our magic. But think for a minute. Why are we doing this? Why are we going to these lengths?" he asked emphatically.

Sirius grimaced at the that. Seeing the point and understanding the situation, he sighed and slumped his shoulders. "To not let anyone get wind of the fact that any magical was involved in the matter. Yes, I get it. But does it have to be so bloody difficult? You don't know kid, but there is a reason people don't wish to be on F**Ǥ**MOS's wand range. They can and will flay us alive if they do find out about this. Let's not forget the numerous laws we have broken between the two of us. I've _just_ checked out of Hotel Azkaban, I have no wish to go back again, especially this soon."

Harry looked at him and shook his head. "Don't you think I know that Sirius? Don't you think I would have taken that into account? I agree it's a difficult plan to pull off. But it doesn't change the fact that it's the only one which could give us what we need until we can figure out how to get the Black vaults safely in your hands. And since we haven't got a clue how to do that, we have only one thing to fall back on. This. For which, we have to be able to convince these people to do as we want them to without making them realise that it was we, who were influencing their decision. And since we _cannot _use our magic to do the deed. We have to, as they say, go muggle. And this," another wave at the parchment, "isn't the way to do it," he explained somewhat patiently.

Sirius was getting truly frustrated by all that was being said. He had done the research. He had put in the time. He had even suppressed his screaming instincts to charm the pretty ticket seller at the cinema. Had even watched the damn film. _Twice. _Now the kid-wizard was saying that all this had been nothing but a waste of time. Time, he could have spent getting to know the _inner workings _of that pretty saleswoman. Before he could tell as much to his young-but-not-really-a-kid friend, said friend decided to speak up.

"Again. Learn. To. Close. Your. Head. I have told you this many times now. Even with the restoration of your previous shattered occlumency shields, you still tend to broadcast your 'less than chivalrous' thoughts. While it might seem harmless to you now and could even work in your favour when you wish to portray yourself as an incompetent degenerate…" ignoring the "Hey!" from a bristled Sirius, he continued, "…it will also pave a way for any and I mean any legilimencer to get access to your mind. And for that matter so…"

"Yes. Yes. I get it. The mind. The thoughts. The useless occlumency shields. Can you just explain what the hell is wrong with my research and how can I do better so I don't get hacked to pieces?" Sirius interrupted with an expression that clearly showed how willing he was to take the unsolicited advice.

"…"

"Well?"

Smothering a sigh of annoyance, Harry complied. "What you have given me here, is basically an interpretation of how muggles _think_ that these people converse. Cinema, while being a wonderful example of muggle innovation, is also inept at differentiating fiction with reality. The men we will be dealing with would cut off your fingers for any _perceived _insults. And if you do talk to them as you have written down in this parchment, they would consider it as such," he paused to let that sink in. Sirius was taking it all with little interest. It was getting clear to him, by the minute, that it would be difficult if not impossible to make Sirius competent in conversing like a muggle much less an unsavoury muggle that he had to portray himself as. It would be more... he paused suddenly as an idea derailed his thoughts.

Turning around, his eyes focused on him, he addressed Sirius again. "I think we have been going at this all wrong. I have been trying to make you something that you have no cause to be, nor any inclination towards…Sirius. How well can you pull off being your brother-in-law?" He asked suddenly.

"Who? Lucy?" asked a clearly flummoxed Sirius.

"Yes, him."

"It's not really that hard, is it? I mean, I have not seen the man since I have been back from my _jaunt._ But I cannot imagine him being anything other than a snooty, self-important, prejudiced arsehole that he was back then. Why are you asking?"

"Right. Well, that is exactly what you need to be. Just looking the part would be more than enough for what we want. It's will not take us more than two days to pull it off, if it all went according to the plan. Let me do the talking. Raise your eyebrows condescendingly if they say anything you don't understand. Do not under any circumstances make it seem like you are deferring to me. You are the boss. Believe it. Make it your truth. And I think I have another thing that will help you understand their mannerisms," he told the man, searching for something in his pockets.

"Which is?" Sirius asked moving to sit at the couch.

"Something that I had expected you would do on your own, without my input. But since you didn't," he stared pointedly at Sirius, which he promptly ignored, "you will do it tonight and night after that. I can't help you with that as the plan requires me to be in Wellington by tomorrow."

"So why not do it now? It seems important enough. Wait… Ho ho. I see it now. Have another _appointment _at that muggle park, do ya?" Sirius asked wiggling his brows.

"We cannot do it now because the people whom I wish for you to impersonate usually come around later in the evening. Secondly, the place you need to be at, is in West Yorkshire. You will know the place when you arrive there. Here, take this," he tossed him an ordinary-looking key chain which had a moose's head hanging on it. "It's a portkey. Your arrival coordinates are mapped to a lone alley down the place. Be careful. If they see you, they will most likely do their best to kill you. I imagine a powerful enough disillusionment charm would do the trick. And lastly, I _told_ you, it's a mail drop location from our _friends_. Remember them? People who worked their arses off to get you away from murdering Ministry goons and are currently caring for your godson?" Harry snarked glaring at him.

"Raaiiiight," Sirius remarked sarcastically. "The coalition of mysterious Joes. Well, whatever. It's your business, I suppose."

"First thing you have said since coming here that I agree with," he replied.

"Sure." Sirius shrugged getting up and moving towards the window.

"Now, that we are done discussing my interests," he said looking pointedly at the reflection of a still smirking Sirius in the window. "I'd need you to be ready by the time I get back. And since I am going there without our _usual methods_ or a wand, it might take me a couple of days to get back. But we won't be able to dally after I have arrived. So make sure you have both the potions ready by then. You'd probably have to take a stroll down Knockturn for that."

"Yes, my thoughts as well. What are you going to do about your wand though? It's dangerous going to another country as it is. Going to backwater Kiwi-land of all places, and that too without a wand matched to you? I'd not do it if I could help it. I cannot imagine Boardman's wand is treating you better than it did me."

"It's not. But we can't really help it now, can we? Seeing as my only semi-working wand found you a better fit than me, I'd need my own. And considering, I probably won't be able to find a better place to get mine than Dunedin, that too with our time constraints, I do have to take this chance. Which reminds me, I have been meaning to ask, how's yours treating you by the way?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"It's loads better than Boardman's, I can say that for sure. Even after being used close to its limits in your hands, it gives me less resistance than it did you. I have observed my spells are more fluid and less draining. " Sirius replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"I am sensing a but."

"But…it is still nothing like my own wand. I imagine you know the feeling. You never feel as…as complete as you do with your own." Sirius answered a bit demurely.

Nodding his head at the man's observation, Harry replied. "I might have a solution for that, I think. The wand, when bonded with you, it had been an unmatched focus for me. It was simply a resource that I had on hand. The only one I could use at the time. It was imperative that I had it for what I had planned and it served its purpose, howsoever grudgingly. I had felt it resisting from the second spell I had cast with it. A spell that I could do without conscious thought, I had to actively intend to do with it with more focus than necessary. The day before the wand chose you, I had felt it vigorously fighting my control. But as you have bonded with it now, it will and _has_ evidently worked much, much better for you. Still, being one of the creations of those-we-can't-speak-of, it has other properties which will make it resistive to any whom it does not consider it's master. Considering the fact that I was the last one to wield it, disarming me in a formal duel will probably make the wand more attuned to you. But even if that doesn't work, I think I can probably manage to get you a better-matched wand similar to your original one. That is if I managed to find _**them,**_ sparing time. You said your old one had dragon heartstring as it's core yeah?"

"Yes. Ebony, Fourteen inches. Find who?" Sirius asked quizzically.

"Oh, I didn't tell you this part, did I?" replied a grinning Harry. "Tell me, Sirius, what do you know of the **Cephalopos** family?"

A thoroughly bewildered Sirius was looking Harry for the tangent that he had taken their conversation in. "As much as everyone else does, I suppose. One of the oldest families of wandmakers from Wales. Rumoured to have apprenticed the first Ollivander in the branch of wandlore, which, of course, the Ollivanders have denied. More so since the last Cephalopos left the British isles for what has been now, quite a few centuries. But why would…" Sirius stopped suddenly, staring wide-eyed at him as he figured out what Harry was trying to say. "You…you…you found them?" he whispered.

"Not yet. But I do have an idea where they might be. I don't think I'd have much difficulty locating them. If I had the time that is." Harry replied, still grinning.

"Not. Much. Difficulty? Are you daft, Harold? Look, kid, I know you're smart, smarter than anyone your size should have any right to be. But still. You can't possibly think you can find one of the most prominent families of wandmakers who have been out of everyone's sight for well over two centuries casually walking in any country you happen to have a business in, do you?" Sirius asked, hoping to make the kid understand the possible futility of such an undertaking.

"We'll just see about that, won't we? In any case, do remember what I told you. Keep your head on a swivel, Sirius. I will not be here to bail you out if you get in trouble. Keep that in mind before you do something stupid, yeah?"

Seeing Sirius nod hesitantly, he moved towards the door to disapparate to Heathrow. He knew Sirius would be alright. Well…alright in the sense that the world wouldn't collapse in two days with Sirius at the helm. Maybe. Probably. Bah! Who was he kidding? The man was a walking time bomb. It would be a minor miracle if everything went alright in his absence. As if to emphasise on his inner thoughts Sirius shouted his last-second enquiry.

"Hey! Kent! Wait…What swivel?"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Despite having succeeded in deflecting Sirius' thin accusations, he did go back to Heathgate. The force which kept calling him back here had no counter. The sheer ferocity of his desire to see her just one more time proved too much for him to resist. And so, here he was, back at the same alley exit that looked at the same Muggle park where she usually sat.

Her happy smile, her calm visage, the little scrunched up brows as if she was searching for a mystery of life only she could perceive were the balm for all his aches. Kids her age were playing and running around as they usually did. But she didn't look at them. Not once. She was _happy_ where she was. _Happy_ with what she had. As though she had made _peace_ with the world and her role in it. As if she had learned to settle. She should have grown up feeling loved. Feeling like she belonged. Knowing that there were people who loved her for what she was. To see such a look in a seven-year-olds eye was disheartening. Seeing it in _her_ eyes especially, made him want to crush every single thing that had made her become that way.

A blonde woman, a teacher perhaps? came near her and asked a few questions, which the girl answered promptly and politely. There was something that niggled at his senses when he saw the two interact, but he waved it away. She was safe. Away from the dangers that plagued this world. At least, for now.

Wishing that he had more time to just watch her, to quiet his waling demons, he moved away.

There would be time to watch her grow. To watch her become a beautiful and amazing woman that he knew she was going to be.

For now, he had to find the linchpin of his plan.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Travelling with a young child on a plane flight seventeen hours long would be a trying experience for anyone. It was more so when one didn't even _know_ that they had a young child until about an hour before their flight was supposed to take off. A middle-aged gentleman was of similar thoughts when he landed on the Wellington International Airport with his six-year-old son that he had no recollection of conceiving. As soon as they reached the taxi hub, the young boy looked at him and waved a smooth looking brown stick and all was back to normal.

At least he didn't have to care for a kid anymore. He had made other _plans_ for his weekend. Plans that certainly wouldn't have included the presence of a child. A sigh escaped his lips. Alas, Rebecca didn't swing that way. Try as he might, he hadn't even been able to convince her to dress as a schoolgirl. Well, at least he'd have three whole days to spend with her. Alone.

Not noticing the young boy who was briskly walking away to the nearby loo, he went about his own way. Coming by himself rather than with his wife had been a brilliant idea after all.

Walking alone towards the lone public loo or a longdrop as it was called by the locals, by the corner, Harry wondered how long had it been since he had set foot in this merlin damned country. It had been during an unexpected halt in the war when the resistance had tried to get into the 'Kiwi-lands' as the wizards called it. The country had been struggling with its own problems. Voldemort's influence had been farreaching. Most of the dredges of society, especially those who had lost all meaning in their lives and lived only to plunder and cause chaos had readily signed up when the _hands_ _of_ _Lord Voldemort_ had come calling. While the conflict had been nothing on the scale of what was happening in the British isles, the war in the kiwi-lands had escalated to a degree that had not been seen in the country for well over half a millennia. The resistance had hoped to hide out in the backwaters for a scant few weeks to recuperate from their losses back home. He had been just a soldier back then. Simply following orders of his, then, betters. Had been learning how to traverse the guilt-ridden path that was the leadership of their faction.

Shacklebolt had truly been inspirational at that front. He had formed them all into a cohesive unit. And when the time had come, he hadn't even batted an eye and given his everything to get that same unit out of the hands of the demons that had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for them when they had set foot into the unknown territories of Magical Dunedin. They had been captured nonetheless. Held captive with the scarcely left magicals of the country. It was fortunate that someone had had the presence of mind to disfigure him with a well placed stinging hex on the face during the ambush. The sick fucks had taken extreme pleasure in breaking their wands right in front of them. Having been beaten, tortured, with no wands, no hope of a rescue, they all had just been waiting for the mercy of death. And then, he had come. Their leader. Shacklebolt had singlehandedly slain 17 Death Eaters before they had cottoned on to his presence.

They had lost him in the end.

But he had given them a chance. A chance they hadn't missed and had fought their way out of that cesspool along with the few locals that had left.

It was one of these locals that he had changed his life forever. It was she who had made him understand what living was all about. It had been her who had taught him the real reason for standing up to the monsters of this world. And it was her he was going to see first. With the destination in mind, he mapped the co-ordinated in his mind for the only magical enclave of the kiwi-lands, Magical Dunedin, he disapparated.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Appearing in the midst of a bustling market was not what he was expecting. The last he had seen the place, it had been a barren land having a few dilapidated houses rising here and there with lots of ruins in between. Shaking his head at the distant memory, and preparing his mind for what was to follow, he started walking north, into the village proper.

Even here, so far away, the magical district was ever so familiar. The shops selling their wares were almost the same as he had seen in Diagon or in Carkitt. Shopkeepers were shouting at the customers to visit them, hoping to acquire some business. People were moving to and fro in the streets getting their needfuls. It was an experience he had missed before coming back. Being just a face in the crowd. Just being one of them. Being lost in their midst.

A while later, the trudge had him standing in front of a lone house at the edge of a small river that was running through the village. A woman was watering what seemed to him a small growth of Stinging Nettles at the front of the house seemingly lost in her thoughts. Clarisse Campbell. She was small in stature with an oval face and eyes that were a light shade of blue. Every movement she made was elegant and gave no excess. He could have watched her for the whole day without blinking. She was family, after all.

A polite cough from him brought her attention to Harry. A bemused smile traced her lips as she watched him looking at her.

"Whatcha doin' here little one?" she finally asked.

He didn't answer for a few moments and when she was beginning to think that he hadn't heard her, he spoke. "Would you be surprised if I told you, I was simply contemplating life?" Harry asked in return, looking at her with a small yet genuine smile.

A twinkling laugh erupted from her lips as she heard what he said. She was still smiling with tears of mirth in her eyes when she looked at him again. "Contemplating life, eh? A little too young to be doing that, aren't you?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps. But then again, I have heard someone say that 'Age' is simply the acceptance of a term of years. But maturity is the glory of years. And I am, for good or worse, far more, let's say, _settled_ than others my age. Just as you once were, Clarisse Campbell." Harry replied looking at the woman who was still standing there, smiling at him, with a small smile of his own.

"Well aren't you cute little mister. Won't you come inside for some tea? I think we have a lot to talk about, don't we?" she asked even as she moved towards the front door, not even looking at him anymore.

"Of course." He replied, gesturing with his hand to ask her to move ahead. Which she did and he followed.

As soon as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he found himself at the end of a lit wand from the still smiling woman. He had expected nothing less. She was as formidable as she had been in his past. He had known she'd catch the phrase he had used.

"Wand?" she asked without preamble.

"Left jacket pocket." He replied, without missing a beat.

"**Accio." **The wand in his pocket flew straight into her waiting hands.

Harry gave her a pointed look. "Can we have a chat now? Miss Campbell?"

"Certainly. Though not before you tell me who you really are." She asked in return.

Harry had thought about what he would say to her on the whole flight back. She held a soft spot in his heart after what they had shared. Those moments of his life that he had spent with her had been one of the very few that he would never be able to forget. She deserved the truth. But what she deserved, even more, was life as far away from the dangers that she would come across if he told her everything he wished to so dearly. Even if he needed someone on his side after all this time of being alone. He could tell her and make the conversation a bit easier, but at what cost? She would no doubt ask to tag along. To risk her life as she had once before. He did not have the capacity to lose one of his precious people. Not again. Not after he had lost them all once before. It was selfish of him, but he was fine with that. Making up his mind, he addressed the still standing woman.

"I could tell you that, or, I could simply tell you that I have a way of saving your father."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the change in her was sudden and a sight to behold. Gone was the slightly smiling woman who was merely treating a boy's fancy. Gone was the slight mirth in her eyes. The woman standing in front of him held a look of such fury that her eyes came alive, a fiery storm raging in them. Her next words were precise and spoken with a hiss.

"What do you know of him? I would not care that you are posing as a child, or even if, for some bizarre reason, you are one. Speak. Now."

Familiar as he was with her temper, he gestured with his hands in a placating manner before responding as quickly and as precisely as he could. "Found out about him through some mutual friends back in London. Jamie says 'hello' by the way. We have a history together, him and I. He knew what I could do and he knew of your father's ailment. He suggested that I look for you and you'd be able to help me with my own… _issues_. Once I gained your trust that is."

She looked at him with shrewd eyes, weighing his words. She was a brilliant judge of character, he knew, and thus it did not surprise him in the slightest when she _seemingly _relaxed her wand arm and asked her query almost conversationally.

"Jamie never had a big mouth. You must have quite a history together for him to open his gob. I never understood how he got Susie to settle down with him, with his quiet nature. That girl is a rocket."

Smiling slightly at the _simple _remark, he responded in kind. "You mean Jocelyn don't you? And last I saw them both, they were just as quiet as ever. In fact, I have only ever seen her talk once in my life which ironically had been to tell someone to shut up." Quirking his lips in a smirk he added, "Satisfied?"

Dismissing the question and moving towards the couch, she threw the summoned wand back at his feet and took a seat facing him. "Not really. You have just gained five more minutes. You should have realised by now that I don't have much patience for you Englishmen. I'd suggest you speak your truth before I run out of it."

Knowing that he was still on thin ice, he gave her what she asked for. "The curse that was inflicted on your father, I can remove it. That is all you need to know, and more specifically, that is all I am going to offer you. You will see improvement in him before I take my leave, I can promise you that. Take it or leave it," Harry said with as straight a face as he could muster. While he would have removed the curse from the man anyway, even if he had to subdue her, she did not need to know that and the best possible way to help her was to establish himself as a threat rather than a friend. Seeing her again after so many years, it was screwing with his brain something fierce.

Clarisse looked at him with a clenched jaw and narrow eyes. He could tell that his words had not done much in the way of getting through to her. She took a deep breath and moved towards him, wand in hand. "I know that for a fact that the curse that was put on my father has no counter. The one who cast it has been dead for twenty years and the curse had been of his making. Now, here you are, telling me that you have some _magical_ cure that would make my father whole again. You can see why I'd have trouble believing you," she finished, looking at him right in the eyes, towering over him.

"Understandable. I realise how that must sound like. But to my understanding, the solution seems simple enough. I deliver what I am promising or you can kill me where I stand. Though there are certain _requirements_ that would need to be fulfilled before I am _able_ to do what I have promised."

"Such as…" she asked raising a well-manicured brow.

"The curse, _**Verstand**_ _**Verzweiflung**_, your father was cursed with, it doesn't last as long as its effects do. By now, after all these years, it isn't the curse that is keeping your father from waking up. No. That would be its effects. The curse was created to torture people's minds while keeping their bodies untouched. The _Cruciatus_ fails in comparison to the subtlety with which _Verstand_ _Verzweiflung _can torment its victim. Where the Cruciatus targets the nerve endings, the body itself, it also causes a physical reaction and the pain caused by that physical reaction, in turn, shatters the psyche into multiple fragments if applied for a longer period of time. The Verstand Verzweiflung, on the other hand, targets the mind in a different manner. Bending it, breaking it _and _remaking it over and over again." He paused to let that sink in.

Seeing her still in thought, he continued.

"But you see, our minds, they are marvellous things, Miss Campbell. It has been found that to prevent the psyche from shattering under such immense pain, the brain is capable of shutting itself down. I strongly believe that is what is happening with your father. I could be wrong, of course. But I rather doubt that I am. There are only three people that I know of, who could bring him back from the abyss that has become his refuge. One is a Dark Lord who is currently gliding through the forests of Albania. The other one is someone who definitely _has_ the skillset to help you, but I believe you would rather mind his presence in your home let alone agree for his help, even if he was inclined to do so, which I am sure he wouldn't be. The Grand Sorceror himself. Albus Dumb…" Before he could speak further Clarisse grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him up. "…as I said, I rather doubt you would like his presence. So the only real option you have is standing right in front of you. Well, dangling really. But that's just your fault, Miss Campbell."

Releasing him abruptly she turned her back to him and moved to the lone bar in the corner. Fetching the glass and filling it up to the brim with her favoured brandy, she gulped it in few scant seconds. Knowing her to be not much of a drinker, he understood that the decision of whether or not to trust him with the care of her father was weighing heavily on her. It made him feel guilty that the choices he had decided to make were the reasons for her being as upset as she was, but he ruthlessly pushed it down in his gullet. He would not involve her in the bloodshed again. This woman had done enough for him as it was. It was not her fight. At least, not yet. And if he had anything to say about the matter, it would never be so.

A shattered glass brought his attention back to her. She was looking at him again. With the same shrewd eyes as before. But there was something else too. A small hope had been kindled. He knew that if he failed her now, she would tear him up in pieces not caring that he was just a boy, technicalities be damned. With gritted teeth and a furiously sparking wand, she addressed him again. "Hope. They say you should be careful with it. You are promising me hope, boy. Something that I haven't had for more years than you have been alive. Know this. If you fail to deliver...I will have your guts for garters. That clear?" she asked menacingly.

"Sure," Harry replied, simply shrugging his shoulders, having expected such a response from her.

"Good. Now you said something about certain requirements? What might those be?" she asked, turning her back towards the bar to fix herself another drink.

"Just two things really. First is simple enough for you to deliver considering the people you know in this country…" he said ignoring her slight turn back and a quirked brow, "…and the second…well, I reckon that is where we might not reach an understanding if you keep gulping those drinks that you are now. What I have to say may very well make you want to curse me right where I am standing but I'd advise you against taking such an action. You might get more than you bargained for. And not in a good way." He asked and warned, knowing himself to be capable enough of handling her, even if it cost him a limb…or two, especially with a wand as resistive as he had on his person.

Clarisse turned around slowly, picking up her wand from the bar top which she had dropped in favour of soothing her nerves with her favoured Blatonbow's Brandy. "Is that so? We won't rightly know what I'll do if you don't open your mouth and say the damn words, would we? Best be quick boy, you are not earning any favours by mouthing off by the side of your neck."

Nodding at her, he put forth his query. "The discipline required to remove a curse such as your father's would call for an expert in the mind arts. While I am, in my not so humble opinion, such a person, I do not have the right _tool_ needed to get the job done. I believe you know the mind arts to be demanding of significant control over one's magic?" he asked, inclining his head towards her. When he saw her nod stiffly, he continued. "So you would also know that a proper focus would be required if I were to attempt such a thing as delving in your father's mind. As of now, I am using a borrowed wand. And as such, I am in need of my own. That is what I need your help with."

"Oh? Need a wand, eh?" she asked with a smirk. "If you know about my work as much as you seem to do, you would have no doubt realised that I do not have any contacts that could help you with such a request. Given that, tell me why shouldn't I just blast you to smithereens right here and now?"

He had been ready for that. It was, as they say, the moment of truth. She would be right pissed at him if he said the wrong thing. And considering what he had to say was a secret she and her family had zealously protected from the world, the odds of coming out of this conversation unscathed, seemed very slim. Nevertheless, charging ahead like a Gryffindor, he once was, he told her his reasoning.

"Your contacts? No. I don't believe they can help in this matter. But you?…you I think, might be able to."

As soon as the words left his mouth he had to dodge an oncoming curse. Sliding to his left, he jumped back to keep himself from being flayed alive from the _flame_ _whip_ she had conjured in a split second after her first cast. Moving his wand in a complex pattern even as the floor burned and split with the force of her spell, he shot a jagged purple one of his own towards the still standing woman. A red shield came into existence at the very last second in front of her and the woman ducked to fire again even as the gong of the spell striking her shield reverberated along the walls. A _stunner_ and a _concussor_, he batted aside without much difficulty, but another flame whip tore through his jacket making him jump back again.

Getting tired of the being on the defensive, he was about to respond in kind when he felt a constricting force pressing on his body. Before he knew it, he had been hit by a _body_ _bind_ and vines, thick and jagged erupting from her wand, bound him, slicing into his skin.

'_The wards!' _he realised. She had called upon the wards embued in the very walls of her home to pin him down.

Clarisse, now breathing a bit heavily, looked at him with a vicious smirk adorning her face. "I told you, stranger, I would not care that you look like a child. You know something that we have guarded for years and years. How you came by the knowledge, I do not know, nor do I care. What I do know is that this knowledge will not leave my house. Nor will you."

Her wand was glowing and with her face so close to his own, he could see the spell in her mind as her eyes caught his own. The standard _cutter_. This close to his neck, it would more than likely sever his head if she powered it enough. And seeing the look on her face, he had no doubt that power would not be an issue.

She was about to cast the spell when suddenly, she felt her body become stiff. Silky ropes, soft but firm, bound her lithe body. Before she toppled on the floor, she saw the boy that she had bound and petrified, was shimmering away like a mirage.

As she was lying down on the floor, facing the door which had been _closed_ and yet somehow was now open, she saw the same boy, standing at the edge of her home, looking in the eyes, with his wand pointing at her still. Understanding filled her eyes as she realised what the boy had done. Before she could even try to free herself by condensing the magic within her body, the boy shot a spell towards her and she felt movement return to her limbs. Surprised, she hissed at him.

"When?"

Knowing what she was asking, he answered stoically. "When did I put you under the spell?" he nodded. "When you invited me inside, Miss Campbell. I do not make a habit of entering the homes that have been warded to a degree such as yours."

She regarded the boy who was still standing at the edge of the ward line of her home. She knew she was beaten. He had played it very safe since the beginning and odds of her getting the upper hand now, were slim to none. Hoping to buy some time to think of a way through and knowing he would not enter her house until she retracted the intensity of the wards, she asked what was bothering her ever since she had understood what the boy had done to her. "I have never seen an _illusion_ _spell_ this convincing in my entire life. To have felt the touch, to have felt instinctively, that someone was there right before my eyes when it was all just a figment of my mind. How? How did you do it?"

He gave her a pointed look that told her he knew what she was doing, but despite that, surprising her, he gave an answer. "A spell of my own creation. It has a great amount of leaning towards the mind arts as one of the primary requirements is the eye-contact with the person. You looked at me enough for the spell to take hold. I only had to make you _believe _what you saw happening, was real. As you can imagine, it has its flaws. It can only be cast on a single person at one time, for one. There are others. We can discuss them if you wish. But priorities be must, as I am sure by now you are done going over all your options. Can we get past our disagreement long enough for me to make my case, as it were?"

She scowled at him for being able to read her as well as he did. She reluctantly willed the wards to recede in their intensity. And when she spoke, it was with the tone of a bitter woman. "What now?" she asked, the fire in her eyes dimming somewhat.

Harry stepped inside the small house and shut the door. Standing below a lantern, looking at her, he flicked the wand in his hand and she felt constrictions of the body bind leave her body. Without giving her a moment to think of a way to get out of the situation, he began. "Now, I ask you one simple question. What you decide after that will see how the rest of your morning goes."

"Ask what?" she asked, her wand arm twitching, ever so slightly.

He shook his head and sighed. She would not rest until he gave her a win. Something he could not do. Not now. Not when he knew that giving her a win would mean assimilating her more and more into the cesspool that was his life. "You never did know when to quit, Clarisse… Regardless, answer me this, what is more important to you, your family's history or your father?"

For a moment it looked like she would attempt to curse him again. Her arm was still stiff, coiled, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on him. But a feeling that she couldn't decipher, made her stop and she relaxed somewhat. She stood there, breathing steadily. A while passed before words escaped her. "_He_ would want me to say… it's our history. That a single-life would not matter if the generations became cursed with the name that bound us to our misery."

Harry nodded. "Perhaps he would. Perhaps your father would think that the name **Cephalopos** means more to him than his own life. But he is not the one who has to answer this, Clarisse. I asked _you_ what matters the most to _you._ Your history or your father?"

He could see the struggle in her mind clearly visible on her face. The anguish of a choice between her father and what he treasured the most. It hurt him to see her like this. It made him nauseous that it was he who had caused her to be so. Pushing down the bile in his throat, he forced himself to look at her. A few minutes passed and she lifted her head enough for him to see her suspiciously moist eyes when she spoke with barely a whisper. "You can help him?" she asked.

"I can," Harry replied.

A pause and she spoke again, still struggling to keep her voice even. "Then you will have what you asked for," she replied, wiping a few tears that had escaped her eyes and were running down her cheeks.

She walked towards him and for a moment he thought he could see the something strange pass through her face, then suddenly, she _moved_ and he was sporting a busted lip.

"You fail me now, and there won't be any trick in your bag that would be able to save you from me. I'll hunt you down if it's the last thing I do."

He swiped his thumb on the lip and flicked the blood right in her face before he replied with a smile.

"I believe you."

-x-x-x-x-x-

It took eight hours. Eight hours to carve the wood, to isolate and bind the cores, to form the connection between them only as a master wandmaker could forge.

She had told him once, that her family, the Cephalopos', had been the ones to learn the art of forging the magical foci from the Roman priests who had been the ones to create the first-ever wand in existence. He remembered being mesmerised by the tale she had told. And even after all these years, when he had heard her say those words, he still found himself captivated by the struggle within them.

The Cephalopos' had been the only greek family to live through the Roman conquest of Zagori, a small magical enclave in southern Greece. Somewhere along the way towards their only hope of survival, they had picked up a few Roman priests who had fled their empire in hopes of leaving the bloodshed behind. The Greeko-Roman party of eleven souls had found refuge on the plains of Swatara, the only magical community left in the middle of western seas after the empire had eradicated any sign of the others. The family who had once boasted to have the numbers to take the Roman Armada alone had now been left with just four with every other member been slaughtered in the name of an empire that had wrought wars and brought sickness to their lands.

Despite their loss, despite everything that had happened to them, they survived. And even though it took a couple of generations, but they Cephalopos name lived again. Thrived again.

Until they didn't.

Until the ravagers and hunters had picked them off one by one, all in the search of a _**wand, the wand, **_that had never been in their possession, to begin with.

A search in vain.

It was this, that had brought Clarisse's great grandfather to the backwater Kiwi-lands. And as proven earlier, survival was in their blood. And so they survived. Again. Lived. Again.

But one thing that they never did was… make a wand again.

Or so, _thought_ the world.

Clarisse had seen the resistance's need and after being held in captivity with each other for so long, she knew the worth of what had been at stake. So, she had agreed to take to her craft again. For him and for every other member of the resistance that had been there.

Though the written scriptures had long since been destroyed, the magic involved in the creation of a wand was something spectacular, he'd been told. And as such, It wasn't surprising that he had asked to see it for himself.

But Clarisse had denied then, just as she did now.

He had thus, availed himself the opportunity to rest his eyes when Clarisse had gone inside a small work area hidden behind a tapestry on the wall. Sleep eluded him though. So he just laid there. Still. Looking at the ceiling of the small house. A house that held some of his fondest memories. A place where he had gathered his courage and asked his beloved to share her life with him. A place where he found the real reason for fighting the evil that plagued their lives. A place that held in its grasp, the very essence of his happiness.

He would have dwelled more on those rare blissful thoughts, had he not felt a presence slowly coming towards him.

When he turned, he saw Clarisse standing on the edge of the door, watching the smouldering embers glittering in the fireplace. It was clear to him that despite being there, her mind was worlds away, struggling with whatever that had captured her attention. He was just about to reach out to her with his hand when she looked at him. He stood her gaze for what felt like a really long time when she spoke. "How'd you know?"

"Know what?" he asked in return.

"How'd you know that I would need your blood to bind the cores?" she asked again, turning completely now and burrowing her gaze into him.

"I am a Daedalian creature, Clarisse. The things I know…" he sighed and shook his head a little. "…the things I know, hold the power to turn your relatively simple life into a cursed existence. Its better for you not to know my secrets. They will devour you whole. I do not want that for you. I _could_ _never…_want that for you." He paused and breathed in deeply. "You have done what I asked of you. And now I will deliver my end of the bargain. Speaking of…Is it ready? The wand. Is it done?" he asked at last.

"On the table," Clarisse replied in a soft tone.

She saw Harry move towards the kitchen table and she couldn't help but remember the reflections she had seen when his blood had made contact with the cores which had chosen him. The brutality of the conjured images had shaken her something fierce. But most prominent was a feeling. A feeling which told her that the boy, the man, or whoever he was, didn't belong here. Didn't belong in this place. Whatever the hell that meant.

The magics involved in crafting a wand, a _**true**_ wand, required a _piece_ from the carrier, usually a hair, to forge a bond when the binding involved the amalgamation of two or more cores. But what any true wandmaker would never use, would never ask for, was the holder's blood. There had never been a reason given to her or her father, as to why that was so, but their grimoire had in itself, the specific and very detailed descriptions of the consequences of using such a forging medium. She had thus, vehemently refused, when the boy had given her a vial of his blood to use for his wand.

He had simply reminded her that his father's existence, ill or good, rested in his hands. And despite the warnings his father and their grimoire had given her, she had found herself agreeing, even if it was a little less reluctantly than she thought the situation warranted of her. She realised later, that there was a part of her, a part which every Cephalopos wandmaker could attest to having, that could not, _would_ not, let her rest until she tried, _truly _tried.

She remembered the air in her crafting chamber turning acidic, toxic even, as soon as she had poured his life-blood on to the wood. She hadn't made many wands. But she had made enough to know that the feeling wasn't normal. Wasn't human. It couldn't be. The only thing that gave her a pause was it wasn't coming from the blood as much as it was permeated around it? Over it? She couldn't exactly tell what it was. What she was sure of though, was that it wasn't _in_ his blood. Which, at the very least, gave her a little satisfaction that she was not, albeit reluctantly, abetting a young Dark Lord in the making. And that, for some reason, brought an amused chuckle from her.

It wasn't very well known, and for good reason, but the Cephalopos' weren't known for filtering their clientele. She knew that her family had at least _twice_ crafted wands for the wizards who had leanings towards the dark. It hadn't come as a surprise to her. Her family, small as it might have been left, was quite an old one. For them to not have had a hand in at least one of the dark uprisings would have been strange, to say the least.

As the embers in the fireplace died completely, she shifted her thoughts to the present. As any wandmaker, she couldn't deny to feeling a little excited to see the bond forging between a true wand and a wizard. She had experienced it only a few times in her life, but these moments still held a special place in her heart. She hoped it would be like her previous experiences and she did _not_ want to think about what the wand would do with his blood as a binding agent. It could not be anything but memorable.

Unaware of the thoughts percolating inside Clarisse's mind, Harry had eyes for only one thing. The box sitting on the kitchen table. He could vividly remember the first time he had touched his truly matched wand. The feeling was indescribable. The warmth that had filled his body when he touched his Holly and phoenix wand was nothing compared to what he had felt when he had held his true match all those years in his past-future.

Without a pause, he took the plain black box and opened it with slightly trembling hands. And when he saw the beauty that was lying in it, it was as if every sound around him had been muted. It was somewhat similar in structure as it was during the first time around. He had expected the length or structure to have varied a little. Clarisse was not the same person she had been when she had crafted this wand the first time. It would have been understandable thus, for the design or even the length to be different from what it had been. But it seemed there was more to crafting a wand than just a flimsy or mind of the wandmaker. It truly was a mystical magical discipline. And one he knew he would never be able to get his mind around, try though he might.

Shaking his wandering thoughts, he gazed at the masterpiece in front of him. The wand, it was black as night. Polished, finely crafted wood. Blackthorn. Twelve and a quarter inches. He touched the tip and pushed it a little towards the box linings. Slightly springy. What surprised him though, was the motif that made the grip of the wand. At the edge of a surprisingly soft wooden core was a single bead of a very rough texture which was embedded at the end of the grip. It was something that hadn't been present before. Shrugging away the difference and putting the box down, he reverently picked the magical focus from it and held it in his grip.

The change in the room was instantaneous.

He could feel his magic being corralled by the single heartstring of a Manticore as the peaceful temperament of the Demiguise Hair soothed the flow.

The embers in the fireplace lit back up giving rise to rising flames.

A sudden surge of light emanated from the room as the wand chose its master.

And Harry?

He stood there. With his eyes closed. Bathing in the warm feeling that only a magical who had known the loss of their matched wand could even begin to understand.

When the feeling finally subsided, he slowly opened his eyes. The fiery blue fire raging in them was staggering to see. Had Clarisse not seen the visions she had during the bond forging while crafting his wand, she would have been surprised to see the level of condensed magical power he was giving off.

As if it had suddenly realised the presence of another in the vicinity, the surge was smothered in an instant.

Harry took a breath and the pressure that had accumulated around him eased.

"As remarkable as ever, Clarisse." He mumbled.

Without looking at her, he began to move towards the stairs. A little ways ahead, he turned around and gestured to her. "You coming? I don't think you would want to miss this." With that, he was bounding up the steps, taking two at a time.

Clarisse blinked at the remark and coming to herself after watching the mesmerising affair, hurried to catch up. She didn't know how he knew where her father slept. But with many things a mystery where the boy was concerned, she disregarded it as unimportant.

She arrived in the room upstairs to see Harry dragging a chair towards the lone bed in the corner where her father was lying down with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even. Given the hour, it was clearly visible he had been asleep for a while. Not that it was any different than how he was during any time of the day.

Gavin Campbell or a proud Cephalopos as he would call himself in the midst of his family was an emaciated man in his early sixties. While as a muggle, it would have been the final quarter of his life, him being a wizard made it his middle-aged years. To see him again, in a state where his only visage was the white ceiling of his room, made Harry feel more than a little sad. When he had first seen him all those years ago, he had not been in a state to heal anybody, much less a person who was suffering from the effects of a curse that was known, among those very few of those who knew of its existence, to be worse than an unforgivable. He did not know the man himself, having never had the opportunity to see him in his healthy years. But he knew _of _him. Mostly through the words that Clarisse had spoken about him. He was a kind man. He was a man who knew that the only treasure in life was one's, own family. A man who had lived for his family and was now dying because he had taken a curse that had been meant for Clarisse's mother. A man he could respect.

Harry looked back at the door to see Clarisse looking at her father with a little hope shining in her eyes. When she turned her head to look at him, he nodded, understanding what she was saying without needing to hear her say so.

"It will take me some time. It would be better he could feel someone he knew nearby. Best to get a chair and hang around. I will also need you to not wake him when he starts thrashing around. I know it will be painful to watch him suffer, but you cannot wake him when I am roaming around in his psyche. It will more than likely kill us both. Got it?" he asked seriously.

Seeing her nod, he breathed out a relieved sigh and brought out his new wand with a flourish.

He was still getting used to having a perfectly matched magical focus in his hand. To feel it as an extension of himself was as amazing a feeling as ever. During the time Clarisse had been working on this, he had established that even with his phenomenal control, the continuous use of unmatched and resistive wands for well over a couple of weeks, would not make it easier to traverse a psyche as splintered as he expected Gavin's to be. To give himself a better chance and to check out a possible hypothesis, he had formulated a plan.

Looking at the floor in the middle of the room he pointed his wand at the centre and intoned, **"Simiasortia."**

A monkey the size of a small pillow appeared in the room right where Harry was pointing his wand. As soon it realised he had been summoned, a screech left the monkey's throat. Before it could do anything else, a flick of Harry's wand silenced him. Another flick and the monkey was petrified.

Clarisse who had been quiet for some time decided the break out of her demure mood and smacked Harry at the back of his head making him stumble a little.

"What the hell, kid? A monkey? The fuck do you suppose you can do with that?" she asked scowling and staring indignantly at the still form of the furry mammal.

Harry looked at her with a twitching brow before he explained. "I need to calibrate the power to traverse a mind as complex as your father's so as to not go in blindly. A 'field test' as it were, will help me do that. A simian, while having a mind as close to us humans, is still an animal. And it's psyche as an animal is far more complex than ours. If I can do a successful deep dive in its mind, I'd have a better understanding of what I might find when I am traversing your father's. Now, I'll need you to be quiet, I need to concentrate."

Without giving her a chance to reply, he pointed his wand towards the petrified primate and incanted.

"**Legilimens."**

It took him half an hour to map his way in and out of the furry simian's mind. It was as he had expected, far more complex than any human mind he had come to know. While a human mind was capable of more complex thought than an animal's, it was also far more categorical. An animal's mind was a mixture of haphazardly thrown thoughts here and there which made traversing it, extremely difficult. But after the time spent sifting through the more basic thoughts of eating, hunting, sleeping and unsurprisingly, mating, he thought he knew the best possible way to go about doing what he needed to do to repair the damage done to Gavin's mind.

Coming back out and banishing the glassy-eyed simian back to where he had summoned the little mammal from, he focused his thoughts on the man lying down on the cot. Without pause, so as to keep the formulated plan at the forefront of his mind, he entered Galvin's own.

"**Legilimens."**

The first thing he noticed was the darkness permeating all around him keeping him from accessing any and all segments which connected to the outer functions of the mind. Gavin being a wizard was expected to have basic mental shields even if he could no longer call upon them for protection or keep them strengthened enough to keep an intruder out. What he found was the remnants of what had been a sturdy enough mental protections that were now lying shattered in every which way.

The alternative was looking far better option considering the lack of any thread he could pull that would let him enter the centre where the thought process of a person took place. With that in mind, he _uprooted_ himself and battered through the man's subconscious with little effort on his part.

As if in a whirlwind, he could see the memories and thoughts smashing together in a cyclone. It was no wonder the man wasn't coherent enough to do anything other than breathe. His limbic system which controlled the basic emotions of fear, pleasure, anger and drives such as hunger, sex, dominance, care of offspring were all over the place trying and failing to judge which memory to respond to when every time a match was formed the memory just clashed with another and then repaired itself somewhere farther away.

Knowing what to do, Harry started on establishing dominance. A single repetitive incantation of **"In spatio constitit. Purgare mentis. Taceo et Nicor" **and Gavin's mind came to a halt. The colliding memories _dropped_ in a heap and the world, suddenly, turned dark.

Outside, Clarisse could see Harry's face covered with a light sheen of sweat as his scrunched brows knitted together. The boy had been still for nearly four hours and there hadn't been any change in her father's condition. He was still lying still on the cot breathing as slowly as he was doing before. A strand of doubt started roving inside her. What if he was lying? What if it had all been an elaborative ploy? The boy had already shown himself to be far stronger than any she had come across. If her father didn't get better, there won't be any force in this world that would stop her from eviscerating the boy for giving her false hope. She would turn him inside…

Her world stopped as both Harry and her father came to at the same time. She stood there watching as Harry slipped off the chair and started coughing harshly. Her father, looking around the room startlingly, was holding his head as if he wanted to tear something out of it.

Suddenly, a red spell from Harry's wand impacted Gavin and he slumped back.

Seeing her father attacked after he had just come back to her not what her mind could accept easily. Without thinking she sent a swift _stunner_ towards Harry who was still taking heaving breaths.

He saw the oncoming spell from the corner of his eyes and managed to swat it aside. When he saw the anguished look on Clarisse's face, he knew what had happened. With a sigh, he held out his hand towards her in a gesture that told her he wasn't being hostile.

"What did you do to him?" she shouted.

"I healed him you stupid bint! Now, calm down before you do something you'd regret." He answered with a hiss.

When he saw she was still holding her wand in a grip so tight that her knuckles had turned white, he elaborated. "I had to wake him up from something that should have killed him. Why it didn't is because your father had shut his own mind. He knew what the spell was when he took it for your mother. In his last lucid moments, he deliberately imploded his mental shields and cut off _his_ own magic from ever entering his mind. He must have been an outstanding occlumencer for him to have attempted such a thing. Any other would have died before they made the attempt. Hell, even the magical discharge from ones own imploding mental shields should have seen him brain dead in seconds after the spell impacted him. It was his own decision rather than his mind acting on its own to save him, as I had first thought. I had to, in essence, halt his mind from going through the motions of colliding with themselves over and over again. And the shock of it all was too much for his conscious mind to bear. I _had_ to knock him out. That is why I stunned him. If I wanted to hurt him, I could have done so while I was rummaging through his mind!"

Just having seen her father awake, even if it had been for few scant seconds, was too much for her to grab onto. She barely understood what Harry was saying. But what she did understand, completely, was her father had woken up. Healed, by the strange boy who was looking in her eyes with worry and not a little annoyance. Her wand slackened in her grip and she nearly collapsed onto herself as big fat tears of worry and happiness starting dripping from her eyes. Sobs shook her frame as she hugged herself down in the corner of the room burrowing her face inside.

Seeing her desperately clutching onto a single thought of her father, Harry reached towards her to help her collect herself and then suddenly, found himself engulfed in a hug. A string of barely understandable thank yous followed escaped from her and he patted her head.

He still had a long road ahead of him if he wanted to save them all.

But Clarisse had her father again.

And for now, it was enough.

Past one in the night, they were both counting sheep with Clarisse still clinging to him like a limpet.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Morning came quicker than expected and the first rays of the sun were shining through the kitchen windows as the two sat on the table sipping their tea in silence.

Gavin had woken up from his stunned state early in the morning and Clarisse had bawled her eyes again after hearing him murmur his request for water. Even in those short few moments, it was clear that lucidity would still escape him for a while. Harry had assured Clarisse that it was to be expected. After all, the man had spent almost half of a century stuck in his mind.

Having heard the complete explanation of what and how Harry had done what he did, Clarisse had turned back to her smiling self. She still gave some sharp remarks about him for one thing or another, but he knew, that was just how she was.

It was six in the morning when he decided to broach the subject of his second request that he had to ask of her.

"I know you have contacts in the muggle world. Does that stretch to the hospitals?" he asked abruptly, not knowing how to be subtle about something as strange as what he wanted her to do.

Looking at him with a confused frown she regarded him for a moment before replying, "I do. But I am confused. Why would you need contacts at a muggle hospital? I am sure the potions I can acquire are much better for any maladies that can be found in their world or ours for that matter."

He knew that with her inquisitiveness, he would have to tell her at a bare minimum before she did anything. Resigning himself with the matter he answered. "Yes, I'm sure they are. But that isn't exactly why I asked you that." He paused, wondering if there was a way he could ask, without actually telling her the truth. Finding none, he sighed and continued. "What do you know about Klaas Bruinsma?"

If Harry was counting on her knowledge of current muggle affairs to be shoddy, he was utterly disappointed by the lightly widened eyes and raised brows that he got from her.

Taking it as the cue to explain himself, he elaborated. "I need him to stick around in a hospital. Preferably as a patient. For two days. Maybe more. I need to know if you can manage that without any direct magical interference. And no, there is nothing more than I can tell you which wouldn't implicate you further or at least directly anyways."

Ignoring the dread that she suddenly felt when he had said 'implicate', she clarified. "What do you want with Klaas Bruinsma? As far as I know, he doesn't know about our kind. Any and all _business_ that he does, howsoever despicable it may be, is completely in the muggle world. I cannot fathom him doing anything to do with any magical much less someone like you and still being alive."

He acknowledged the veiled compliment with a lopsided smirk. "True. I would have cut the vermin down where he stood had I not wanted to entangle myself with your local wizarding militia or my own DMLE for that matter. They are a little strict with their muggle baiting laws even if the only people they can't convict with those crimes are their own peers. Not to mention the people whom-we-can't-speak-of and their varieties of ways to sniff out anything that intersects our kind and the muggle world, especially its wealthy denizens." Harry shook his head, thinking of many a people who could be tossed in Azkaban had the DMLE been able to prosecute them successfully. "Anyways, I did not ask because I wanted to get rid of him. It's quite the opposite actually, I need him to be _occupied_ in a muggle hospital for two days without the majority of his compatriots knowing about it. I want him effectively isolated besides two or maybe three of his men being around."

Clarisse looked thoughtful at that. While it was well within her capabilities to arrange such a transaction, she still took a few minutes before she answered. "It will not be easy, nor would it be cheap. But I think, some of my people could manage it without arousing _too_ much suspicion. I also have a squib in a hospital in the city who owes me quite a few favours. What is the timeline?"

"Tonight." He answered promptly, ignoring the matter of payment, for now.

"Hmm. A lot sooner than I was expecting. But I'll see what can be done. How will I reach you?"

He brought out a plain parchment with a small rune inscribed on its edge from his inner pocket and handed it to her. "It has a runic equivalent of a _protean_ _charm_ inscribed on it. I have it's pair with me. We can stay in contact this way. When it glows, either of us will know there's a message waiting."

Clarisse nodded at that. It seemed more efficient than sending owls back and forth. Not to mention more than a little quicker.

"I'll also need some _ingredients_ when you do manage to get your hands on them," he spoke conspiratorially and tossed her a small memento, a small wooden kiwi bird, he had picked up in the market while walking towards her home. "It's a one-way portkey, attach the _items _to it and use the standard activation phrase," he explained.

With that settled, they talked a little more, clearing what could and could not be done in such a short span of time and Harry explained what he needed her to get when she settled Klaas in the hospital and some other things.

After they had had their chat, he put the teacup down and stood up. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Clarisse," he said with a small smile. "By now you must have some of your questions answered. I'll try to quench your curiosity for some that haven't. Yes, we have met before. No, I cannot tell you where or how. Yes, we were friends. Yes, I am hoping we could be again, even if I don't look as handsome as I did back then," he quipped with a smirk.

"You saved my father. Even if your methods or bedside manners could use a little work, I cannot repay you enough for what you did. A friendship, recurring though it may be, seems like more than a fair trade," she replied with a smile of her own.

With that, he decided to leave.

His flight was in an hour.

And it will take a while to find a new unwitting parent to take him back home.

-x-x-x-x-x-

He had half expected a gigantic trench to be there instead of the homely cottage he had grown attached to. But he was surprised, pleasantly so, when he came to his almost untouched home.

He'd have to get his godfather a treat for behaving himself. Something he'd like. Too bad there wasn't a such a thing as a magical stripper. Well…there probably was, but then again, it would just be wasted on the mangy mutt.

Speaking of…He could see the old dog sitting at the front steps waiting for his arrival.

A few steps down the stone pathway and he was near enough to hear Sirius ask, "How'd it go?"

"About as well as could be expected," Harry replied. "You?"

"Both the potions are ready. You have the final ingredients?"

"Not with me, no. You haven't been inside yet? They should have arrived by now." Harry said even as he moved towards the main doors.

When they reached the living room, there was a black wooden kiwi-bird perched on top of the dinner table, with a small sack attached to it. Harry saw it first and gave a smile that was all teeth. Turning to Sirius he nudged his godfather with his elbow.

"I hope you're ready, Sirius. It's payday."

-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _
> 
> _ __ _
> 
> 1\. West Yorkshire – It had the highest crime rate in England and Wales in 1980s-90s.
> 
> 2\. Long drop – "Just got to go use the longdrop" A long drop is a Kiwi term for an outhouse or an outside toilet with no flushing system. Commonly found in public places.
> 
> 3\. Dunedin is a city in New Zealand. The magical community of Dunedin is very small.
> 
> 4\. Verstand Verzweiflung – Mind Despair. A german spell most commonly used by German forces of Grindelwald on their captives.
> 
> 5\. Klaas Bruinsma - One of the biggest drug kingpins in Europe, Bruinsma's major interest was smuggling hashish, and he did it in tons. He was shot dead by an ex-cop in 1991 after an argument.
> 
> 6\. Sors – meaning – Fate.
> 
> -x-x-x-x-x-


	9. Carpe diem – seize the cheque &...sors? Part-2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

"Are you sure you have the right one?" a voice asked.

"Yes," replied the second.

"Really?" the voice asked sceptically. "I thought you had just met the woman. How can you be so sure she didn't just take whatever you offered her and gave you, oh, I don't know umm…her dog's hair?"

"Because A, she doesn't have a dog and B, I have done some business with her in the past. We can trust her."

"What business?"

"Sirius! Would you just man up and drink the damn potion already? You have been whining about this for an hour now!" Harry exclaimed.

"I am not _whining_, Harold! It's a valid concern. I have no wish to be stuck as a chihuahua for merlin knows how long!" cried Sirius.

"You are not going to be stuck as a chihuahua, Sirius," Harry said, all but rolling his eyes at the man. "Even if she did give us the wrong thing," he held up a hand to stall the, no doubt, oncoming protest, "which she hasn't, we would just be stuck in those forms for a week. Two at most…" He paused and looked into the distance as if he was actually considering his idea before he looked at Sirius again. "Actually, you know what? You're right. We should be cautious." He stopped pouring his glass with the potion and slid the ladle towards Sirius.

"…"

"…"

"I am not going first!" Sirius said, jumping away from the cauldron and waving his hands.

"It was your idea, Sirius. I am just agreeing with you," Harry smirked, seeing his godfather trying to inch away towards the door.

"I am not taking the potion first, Harold," Sirius repeated firmly, still trying to get out of the kid-wizard's wand range. Since acquiring his match, Harold was getting way too handsy with his wand. Just last night, he had been treated to a very snappy stinging hex right on his bum just for not flushing the loo. _"It was a bitch to heal too," _he thought, remembering another_ gentle_ reminder he had received while trying to sit on the toilet seat, the previous morning.

"Alright. Tell you what? Let's do it together. How's that?" Harry relented.

Sirius looked at him suspiciously. "Suuure. Let's," Sirius replied, pouring a hefty fill in his glass.

"On three then." Harry offered. "One. Two. Three. Cheers!"

"…"

"I knew you wouldn't drink it, you bastard!" Sirius exclaimed pointing his finger at Harold when he stopped the glass before it touched his lips.

"Oh, fuck you, Sirius," Harry waved his still filled glass around. Seeing that the man was still standing there sniffing at the potion and looking at him adamantly, he sighed." Alright…Alright… I'll do it, you damned coward." After adding a few hairs of his target and with a straight swig, Harry gulped down the whole glass in one go. He knew better than to let the potion linger on his tongue. The foul taste tended to stay in the mouth for far more than its effects did.

As he took a look at him, he saw his godfather had at least gathered enough courage to take a generous gulp of the potion and was grimacing at the taste the same as he was.

A sudden belching feeling made Harry grab his stomach and he took a knee. The queasy feeling came just as expected and nausea made him want to hurl the foul concoction just to make the feeling go away. He had taken this potion many times in his life. He had thought that by now he might have gained some sort of immunity to its effects. He was not pleased to realise that his assumption had been incorrect.

Just as he felt the bones in his hands start to shift, he knew, the transformation had started.

Gritting his teeth in more than a little pain, he chanced another look at his godfather. The man was grabbing his stomach the same as he was. Sirius was trying his damned best to keep the potion inside. When Harry saw him looking at his hands weirdly, he understood his form must have started to shift just like his own.

A couple of minutes passed before the effects of the potion completed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, both of them looked at each other. The whole thing was a bitch and a half. Both were coated with a slight sheen of sweat as they completed their transformations. With heaving breaths and sharp pain, they both waved their wands to dry themselves and remove the odour.

Sirius was the first one to recover from the bout of pain. "Well, at least she didn't rip you off. You look just the right amount of crazy killer I'd need my sidekick to be."

"Yeah…You as well, _Boss_," Harry replied, breathing heavily. "We'd have to modulate our voices though. I can't very well go there sounding like I take helium shots on a daily basis. So do you actually. You talk a bit more _sophisticated_ than you might think, Sirius," Harry replied trying to get the murky taste off his tongue while trying to remove the now, too-tight underwear off of himself and moving behind the couch to hide his modesty.

"Is that your way of saying that I sound like a snooty chauvinist, Harold?" Sirius asked as he attempted to transfigure his robes into something suitable for their dalliance.

"Well, you are still nothing compared to your brother-in-law. So, that's a point in your favour. You won't get that point today though. Today, I need you to channel your inner Lucy." Harry quipped having finally gotten rid of the torn briefs and conjured himself some clothes. The large body was throwing him off his balance. It was not as easy as he had hoped it would be. It would definitely take a while to adjust to that. While Sirius had the experience of already being in an adult body before taking the potion, he, did not.

"I swear if I didn't like you, I would have cursed you black and blue for that. '_Channel my inner lucy'. _I don't have a damn inner Lucy." Sirius mumbled under his breath. He was only half-listening to the kid-wizard though. The transfiguration required was simple enough for him but he was having trouble remembering the perfect cut and style of the muggle suit he wanted. Finally, getting it just right in his mind, he uttered the spell. His robes changed into a fashionable _three-piece navy blue muggle suit_. "Hah! How's this, my minion?" he asked displaying his usual charming smile.

Harry gave him a once over and deemed him acceptable with a grunt.

"Now. You remember what you have to do, Sirius?" Harry asked seriously.

"Yup," Sirius chirped.

"You keep taking it lightly as you are right now and I'd have to carry you back in a body bag." He warned. "You have _seen_ these people, Sirius. You have observed them while I was away. You _know_ they will cut us down if they are even a little bit suspicious. I'd give you that **_Francis_** is slow, but those who work for him aren't. You'd have to remember that. Even if you are playing their boss's boss, they will _only_ listen to Francis. If we aren't able to isolate him from his goons, you'd need to make him believe in what you are saying and who you are," Harry explained patiently. He was rightly worried about what they would be facing when they got inside the lion's den. The ruthless bastards that they were, wouldn't hesitate a second to pull the trigger, which, Sirius was nowhere near fast enough to defend against.

He had set up everything as he had planned. Klaas Bruinsma was admitted to a hospital on the evening of the day he had left the Kiwi-lands and he had just two of his guards with him. The doctors under Clarisse's orders had him sedated. Everything was set. Now was the time for them to do their part. Arguably, the most difficult phase of this whole hair-brained scheme. Especially when the most important aspect of it depended on a man-child who only got serious when the situation was really screwed.

Yeah, what could go wrong?

Sirius, not aware of the musings of his companion, simply nodded. He knew that the kid was worried about the whole thing. And to be honest, he was too, a little. But the simple fact was that the muggles did not scare him. He had his wand and he knew how to handle himself in tight situations. He had been an Auror for merlin's sake. And a good one at that. He was fairly certain he could handle whatever they threw at him. True, those guns of their's did give him a pause, but even those could be defended against given enough motivation. And keeping himself from being pierced would work more than enough for that.

Seeing the look on Sirius' face, Harry was sure the man was busy pumping himself up in the self-grandiose way he usually did. Shaking his head at the thought, he fished out the rope he had made into a portkey earlier which was mapped to a solitary alleyway.

"You have everything?" Harry asked while doing his own inventory check.

"Yes," Sirius replied. His face for once showing a hint of tension.

It was a good sight for Harry to see. The tension meant that despite his chirpy attitude, Sirius was taking this seriously. Well, as seriously as Sirius took things.

When he saw his godfather had grabbed the end of the rope, Harry tapped it with his wand and they disappeared in a swirl.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was an overcast sky and a light drizzle was pouring down on the streets of West Yorkshire. A black town car came to a stop in front of a red-bricked building on the southern street. Despite being an old building, it was clear that it had been maintained very well. Thick vines were stemming out on either side of it in a way that made it seem elegant rather than gauche. The bricks were whole and relatively clean. There were no visible chips on them nor on the little masonry work on the front. With its appearance as it was, it was rightly named, The Red Crestler. Combined, it gave off a feeling of someone highly respected or rich to be living in the building.

Only one of those was true.

**_Roy Francis Adkins, _**the owner and resident of the building, was a career criminal and well on his way to becoming one of the most renowned mobsters of the British isles. Francis had started his career in robbery and had recently moved into smuggling drugs, primarily cannabis. He had a reputation for a quick temper and for being very physically imposing and strong. Given that, it was not very surprising that he was a feared figure among his underlings.

As was nature's way of balancing things, he did have a deficit. Whosoever had worked with the man in his early forays knew that there were more than a few wires that were loose in the pot he called his head. While he had improved since receiving _gainful_ _employment_, it was still a far cry from being a man who could handle all the threads as one needed to when managing the things he did. Smuggling, murder, kidnapping were tedious things. But what kept him balanced was his fear. His fear of the man he managed everything for. Coincidentally, it was the same man who had brought him into his organisation after seeing his skills first hand, when he was filching his guard's wallet.

**Klaas** **Bruinsma**.

The same Klaas Bruinsma that had Interpol chasing after him for more than a decade and hadn't found anything to connect him to his crimes. The same Klaas Bruinsma who had, allegedly, killed north of a hundred people in his rise to power and had been reported by the authorities to have a net worth of about **1.2 billion **scattered all over the very same Klaas Bruinsma who was getting out of his town car in the light drizzle on the street behind The Red Crestler. Just as his foot touched the pavement, his guard, **Louise** was standing there with an open umbrella. Klaas was a man who knew what he wanted and did whatever he could to get his hands on it. He was, as he wanted to be, a significant player on the continental stage as far as drugs were concerned. He was also, a man of style, wearing a crisp _navy blue three-piece suit_ with a bolero hat on his head and polished black boots. As he walked alongside the building, his gait sharp and brisk, he very much looked the part of a man on a mission. Louise, all the while, easily followed behind.

Coming to the intersection Klaas nodded to his guard and crossed the street alone, leaving the guard behind. Louise meanwhile started his approach towards to the building his target resided in. They had already decided on this approach. It effectively reduced the number of possible hostiles in their vicinity to just two or three if the target was being more paranoid than usual.

Louise took a look at his watch and saw that it had already been forty-five minutes since they had started. Not one to take unnecessary risks, he brought out his flask and took a generous swig of the liquid inside, shuddering as he did so. The taste had, as he had known, burrowed on his tongue after the first dose.

As he came to the door of The Red Crestler, he slowed his gait. Hundreds of thoughts raved inside his head as every variable clashed with another in the race of things that could go wrong. He shook his head to clear his doubts. _"I need to do this. There is no point in second-guessing myself now. Everything has been laid out already. I can't let the what-ifs control the mission. I have done what I could with what I had. It will be what it'll be." _Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and banged on the steel door.

A second passed and he caught the menacing stare of the door guard peeking from an opening.

"What do you want?" the guard asked, looking him suspiciously.

"Call Matthew," Louise replied in a monotone.

"There's no Matthew here, guy. Take a hike," the guard dismissed.

Before the guard could shut the door, he began. "I am going to make a call. If it rings inside the room in this building, you won't be leaving it," Louise stated blandly as he reached into his pocket, presumably for his phone. It was a gigantic monstrosity of a box that looked like it was a bitch to carry. Before he could bring it out, the guard relented.

The pointed stare and the bland tone from the visitor were more than enough for the guard to halt his usual modus operandi. The boss did have some unusual guests sometimes. If he found out that he had dismissed one of them, there wouldn't be a hole in Yorkshire he'd be able to hide in. "Wait! I'll go check. Maybe I missed him."

"Yeah. You go do that."

A while passed before a man in a plaid shirt and pants with a necktie on his thin neck opened the door. He was about to shout so as to turn away the unwanted guest when he saw who it was. As soon as his eyes caught Louise's own, he paled.

"L…Louise. I didn't know you were coming," Matthew stammered.

"That was the point. Clear the house. Nobody needs to know I was here. I will meet you at the back door," Louise replied with a hint of frustration touching his tone.

"Y…Yes, of course." Matthew replied before shouting out orders for others to move to the second floor.

By the time Louise was at the backdoor, it was open and Matthew was standing there alone. Seeing him fidgeting was oddly pleasing for him. The moron might only be the _accountant _for Francis, but he was worse than his boss in many ways. At least Francis didn't share his tastes for young girls. Matthew was just a repugnant insect. A clever insect, but an insect just the same.

"_He's_ here, I presume?" Louise asked, referring to Francis.

"Francis is upstairs, yes. Do you wan…" before he could utter another word, Louise was already moving towards the stairs.

"Louise! Louise! Wait." Matthew hissed, trying and failing to stop Louise.

Two flights of stairs and Louise was opening a door to his right that saw him standing face to face with a startled Roy Francis Adkins.

He was shorter than his pictures in the newspapers made him out to be. The flat nose and long face were still the same and his beady eyes were much sharper than he had imagined. But considering that he was _supposed_ to have met the man on countless occasions, he smothered any reaction before it showed.

Francis gathered himself from the surprise and a large grin spread on his face. "Louise! It's nice to see you, hombre. Why the hell didn't you tell me you were coming? I'd have sent Matthew here to pick you up."

Before Francis got on with his spiel, Louise derailed him with just a few words. "Boss is here."

Francis and Matthew both looked at him with wide eyes before Francis once more showed his pearly whites and patted him on the shoulder. "I knew the old coot wanted a change of scenery after the whole shebang in the Hagues. But to stretch his legs this far? Well, colour me intrigued. Where's he anyway?" he asked, his hands still on Louise's shoulders.

If it was bothering Louise, he didn't show it. "He asked me to bring you and him," he gestured towards where Matthew was standing shifting uncomfortably. "to the storage house outback. No one knows he's here. He wants to keep it that way."

Francis frowned at him hearing that. While it was highly unusual for Klaas to come without even a phone call, he had known Louise for as long as he had worked for Klaas. "Sure. Do you know what this is about, Louise? I don't really like surprises, you know that."

"I do," Louise replied.

Both Francis and Matthew looked at him, hoping he would continue. When it didn't look like he would. Francis just sighed and shook his head.

Soon they were standing inside the storage house looking at the back of an impressively dressed man who was watching the street from the windows. The only impression he gave of knowing they had arrived was a simple tilt of his head.

The silence stretched for more than a minute and a bead of sweat travelled down Matthew's temple. Not being able to contain himself anymore, the man sputtered, "M…Mister Bruinsma. We are glad you could…"

"Louise," Klaas called out, interrupting the snivelling sputterings of the accountant.

Louise was suddenly in front of Matthew, stuffing the tie into his mouth, pinching his nose and choking him from behind.

Francis was getting a little worried now. He had seen the boss at his worst. This was not it. But as silent he was, it was pretty damn close. Matthew, he didn't care much about. The man was a freaking genie when handling the money but that was nothing compared to what shit storms he caused with his predilections. But the fact was if Klaas was this pissed, heads would start to roll and if he didn't placate the man accordingly, his would be the first one. With that thought at the forefront of his mind, he attempted a save. "Boss. Why are you here? I realise things here have been getting a bit heated but it's nothing that I haven't been able to handle before."

Klaas shifted his stare from the view outside the window to Francis' reflection on it. Just a stare was enough to make Francis flinch. "Why am I here, Louise?"

Louise, who was still choking the accountant, threw the gurgling man on the floor and adjusted his sleeves and looked at Francis to reply in his boss' stead. "The girl. _They_ know it was someone from your gang. Questions are being asked by the big wigs."

Understanding filled Francis' eyes and the worry he had been feeling abated a bit. This was all the boss was worried about? He could handle this. The little bitch was nothing in the grand scheme of things. He could make the boss see that. "The bitch was no one, boss. I ran a check on her after…after Matthew was done with her and it was clean. Her mother is just some small-time teacher and she had no pappy. This whole thing would dial down before…" That was as far as he got before Louiseslammed him in the throat. His eyes watered and he collapsed grabbing at his throat. The airway was not blocked, Louise hadn't hit him that hard, but the trachea was most likely damaged somewhat. His breaths were coming in ragged and it burned every time he sucked in some air.

It was a minute before he came to. Louise was standing at his front with his hands folded on his chest. "The big bobbies have set their eyes on you. The intel came in yesterday. Congratulations Francis, You've finally got some _friends_ downtown."

Francis' looked horrified as he realised what had happened. One of the reasons nobody had been able to convict Klaas was because there had been no money trail to find. Since he, Francis, was the money manager for Klaas' organisation and nobody had a clue that he was working for him, Klaas was safe. Now, that the upper echelons of the investigative departments had gotten Francis' scent, the secret wouldn't remain so for long. Just like what Louise had left unsaid. He was a loose end. And Francis knew what Klaas did with his loose ends. Hell, he himself had been the one who took care of the poor bastards. Now, that the boss was here in person, it could only get worse for him.

"Please…I…I will take care of it. Louise! Boss! I will take care of it, I promise you. Nobody will know it was your money. I swear. I will…"

"Be quiet, boy," Klaas' heavy voice shut him up as he finally turned around and stepped towards the snivelling man on the ground. "You have done enough. It's only your years of obedience that is seeing your head still attached to your shoulders." He squatted on a knee and his eyes bored into Francis' own. There was something malevolent about his gaze that even Francis, who murdered people for a living, couldn't help but flinch. "Louise will take care of your mess. I have a flight out this evening. Don't do anything that I am forced to cancel it." Some anger finally showed on Klaas' face as he grabbed Francis' hair and pulled his face to look at him. "You will not like the results."

Francis nodded fearfully.

Klaas looked at Louise and nodded. "I'll be in my hotel suite. Take care of it." He looked at Francis for the last time and the cowering man laying on the ground whimpered. "Don't kill him. Give him something from the cache. He did serve me well. No matter his recent idiocy, he shouldn't have to beg for his food." With that, he walked away, leaving behind two trembling gangsters and Louise to arrange his affairs.

Louise looked at the two idiots on the ground and sighed. It would be a lot of pain to deal with these two. At least he'd be the one to give them their just deserts. He could be happy with that.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was an hour later that Matthew, Francis and Louise were sitting on the rickety chair table in the storehouse hashing the plans for a quiet dispersal of the caches. Louise was getting tired of the chatter the two were making trying to pin the thing on each other.

"You just had to take the girl, didn't you! Now we are fucked because your willy can't handle a real woman, you sick fuck. I knew this would happen. I knew you were going to drag me down with you. Should have killed you the night I found you cowering in that drug den. Wouldn't be here if I did. LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!" Francis threw back the chair and grabbed Matthew by his face.

Louise jumped in before both Francis killed the sobbing mess. "Francis! Stop! Killing him will bring nothing but more trouble. The bobbies are looking for anything to bust down your doors. Do you think if they find the body of your associate it would help you any?" he reasoned.

Francis looked at him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Who says they will find his body?"

Louise pinched his nose. "And tell me how would you get the money out of here without him?"

Francis gritted his teeth at that. Matthew was Francis' account for one simple reason, he knew how to keep the money buried. No one knew how and where he kept it, apart from Francis. And even he only knew about the locations, not how Matthew had arranged the contingencies, which, knowing the snivelling coward, were sure to be present.

Getting tired of the two idiots, Louise came around the table and grabbed Matthew by the hair. Two consecutive slaps and the man was coherent enough to realise that there was somebody willing to kill him if he didn't get his shit together. "You know all the cache locations, yes?" He received a fearful nod from the man. "And you are sure no one knows about them?" Another nod. "Good. You will take four men with Francis and bring the caches here. I will have the transport waiting here for the exfil." Then he turned towards Francis who stood seething, looking at the fearful face of his accountant. "And you," he said jabbing his finger on Francis' chest, "better not think about getting away with boss's money, Roy. I know how you think. Despite boss' wishes, you know that I will gut you if you so much as thought about doing anything stupid. It didn't turn out well for the last guy who stole from him. Remember that. You have five hours." Without looking at either of their faces, he walked away towards the exit. He had to saddle the horses if these two numbnuts did manage to get the caches securely in the building.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It didn't take them five hours to wrangle everything back to the storage house. It took close to seven. Turned out, the bobbies had somehow gotten the location of one of the safe houses and were watching it like hawks. Having to leave that one, for the time being, they collected from the other caches, filled all **six** vans and jetted back to the storage house.

That brought them to here and now as they were getting out of the vans. They had all seen the bus waiting back out in the street. Francis had a pretty good idea as to what would happen now and he was ready. He knew what he had to do. If he was going to have to run away from all his hard-earned wealth, he was, at the very least, taking down the bastard who caused all this mess.

Just as all six of them were getting out of the vans, he looked at Louise who was standing at the back of the room, folding his hands. He knew he wouldn't get an opportunity better than this so he struck. Cocking his Ruger P90, he aimed it at the five men walking at his front and pulled the trigger.

Four quick shots and before they knew it every single guard was down. When Matthew turned towards him, fear in his eyes, Francis looked at him and shot him in the face. Twice. In seconds, all five were lying down, bleeding from their noggin. When he turned to his right to take a look at Louise, he was gone.

And the next second he heard a whip-like crack and there was a familiar pressure at the back of his head. A voice cleared his confusion and he froze. "I wouldn't be as easy to kill, Francis."

He gulped nervously but collected himself. "I wouldn't kill you, Louise," Francis stated without pause. "This bastard though," he spat at the bleeding body of his accountant, "he needed to die. He ruined everything for me. He and his sick proclivities took everything that I worked so hard to build. I knew I should have stopped him back then. I fucking knew it! But I figured, what the hell would happen anyway? The bobbies never come this close to the neighbourhood. She would be just like the others," he said, shrugging his shoulders as if stating a fact.

For a second he felt like, Louise would pull the trigger. But when he felt the pressure release from his head, he turned around to see Louise putting something behind his back, presumably his gun. "What now?" he asked.

"Now I give you what boss asked me to and the world never sees you again. Boss has cleared somethings in the west coast, Black sea. You will be settling in Port Varna in Bulgaria. The size of your _retirement_ _fund_ depends on how much you were able to liberate today." As soon as he mentioned the money, he could see Francis fidgeting a bit. Something wasn't right. "You were able to get all of it, yes?" he asked on a hunch.

Francis could quite get himself to answer looking into Louise's eyes so he turned to his side before replying, "We…Th…There were Peelers watching one of the safe houses. We couldn't get those."

"And how much was that?"

Seeing a rope to climb out of the hole he had dug for himself he clung to it with all his might. "Not much! I asked the bleedin' bastard down there," he pointed towards Matthew's bloody corpse, "about it and he said that safe house had been a new one. He was using a new housing firm for _cleaning_ the money and he had given them access to only a small cache."

"If the next thing that comes out of your mouth isn't a fucking number, you will not like your face when I am done _fixing_ it," Louise threatened.

"A Hu…Hundred large." Francis stammered fearfully.

Louise appeared thoughtful before he attempted to speak. "Hmm. I don'…"

"In two spots inside the house." Francis interrupted, knowing that Klaas would know if he lied.

"So, two hundred thousand in total?" Louise asked to clarify.

"Ye…Yes."

Francis was sure that he was about to get the same treatment, he had given his fallen associates when Louise replied. "I am taking that from your share. Boss said to give you one per cent. I am thinking of making it half." Seeing Francis about to say something, he continued. "Relax. I won't. Boss was right. If nothing, you have been loyal. You should get a fair payment for it. Take a bag. And I want you out of the country tonight. Charter a plane. Get on a boat. I don't fucking care how you do it. If Boss sees you again, and you know how _far _he can really see, you wouldn't like what happens to you."

It was clear to Francis that he was on very thin ice with the boss's _cleaner._ So, as fast as his legs could carry him, he snatched a bag from one of the nearby vans and proceeded to leave the storage house. A barked command from behind stopped him in his tracks.

"Francis! Forgetting something?" Louise asked, his face showing the irritation he felt.

Quickly as he could, Francis opened the bag and dropped two large bundles of wrapped bills back inside the van.

"Good boy," Louise remarked watching the man run out of the building in a hurry.

It was a full minute after Francis was gone that _Louise_ breathed a sigh of relief.

It had been a hell of a play. He still couldn't believe that they had pulled it off.

Fucking mobsters.

He took a few moments to gather his nerves before he started moving towards the vans. Judging by the number of bags, there was more than enough for him to start his plans. A wicked grin appeared on his face at the thought.

The _death_-_suckers_ wouldn't know what hit them.

One by one he put _key_-_chains_ on the bags and with a single command of **"Portus Clavis" **every single bag disappeared in a swirl leaving nothing behind but empty vans.

_Louise _came out of the building openly smirking and banged the driver side of the bus. "Get moving."

The bus sped up, screeching all the way to the intersection, leaving behind an empty street and a still smirking _Louise_.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**(Two days later)**

He knew he was stalking. Watching her like this. Even if it was from afar. Seeing her talking, reading, sleeping. It was his only reprieve from his nightmares. The only salve for his wounds. He also knew, if he told her that, she would just smack his arm and kiss him for his trouble. She was like that. Sweet. Loving. Caring.

An amazing woman.

His wife.

Hermione Granger.

He could easily see some of her future self in the little girl sitting at the same spot underneath the same willow tree she always did. The intelligent brown eyes gleaming with the same spark. The same habit of nibbling on her lower lip when she was working out a problem. Even her smile was just the same, kind and understanding.

Every time he had come here to watch her, she had been alone. Busy with her thoughts. Busy reading. Always, reading. Woe to those who kept her from her books. It brought a rare smile to his face.

Today seemed different, though. For one, she wasn't sitting alone as she usually did in her lunch break and for another, there was a woman sitting next to her. The same blonde woman he had seen talking to her once before.

Maybe a teacher had finally realised how tough it was for her in school? Maybe she was just trying to help?

It was good.

She deserved some friends. It always made him wonder how could anyone not want her in their life. She was perfect. Everything about her was uniquely her own.

When a parchment in his pocket grew warm, he knew.

His time was up.

Good things did tend to end earlier for him than they did for everyone else.

He sighed. _"Once more unto the breach…"_

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Did she give you any trouble?" Harry asked as he and Sirius walked towards their target in Diagon.

"Nope. Didn't even read it," Sirius replied, patting his inner robe pocket. "Signed it without looking," he chuckled. "But in all fairness, she _had_ been signing documents for the whole day. I'm sure I'd have burst all the blood vessels in my head if I had to keep up with that kind of workload. Besides, I put the parchment between one of Robards' reports. The bastard drones on and on in his after-action briefs. She never reads it properly," he added, still grinning.

"Hmm. It might also be because it was only a single document. Where Umbitch is at right now, she couldn't have gotten there if she wasn't adept at covering the paper trail…" Harry trailed off as they walked inside the enormous white marble building.

The place was as duplicitous as ever. The enormous waiting hall with its crisp cream coloured walls and their carved epitaphs was enough to show their customers of the might and wealth of their hosts. The beautifully crafted white pillars reached far into a ceiling so high, one couldn't even comprehend it's height. The multitude of queues and counters, situated neatly at its centre didn't even come close to looking cluttered. While it represented their community's collective wealth, it was also a building that had seen many battles and had been built upon the shed blood of thousands embedded within. But what could not be denied was that the place was an exquisite example of fine workmanship and construction of the speciestheir world knew as goblins. It was their home.

Gringotts. The wizarding bank.

Housing within its halls about a hundred different clans of the highly intelligent race of small magical humanoid beings with long fingers and feet with acute senses that coexisted with the wizarding world, Gringotts, was a Sovereign Nation. Goblins had control over the wizarding economy to a large extent simply due to their skills with money and finances.

Clever as they come, goblins, but they were not the most friendly of beasts.

Nor did they entangle themselves in the _petty_ wars of wizards.

They had been the first species of magical creatures to disappear when the second war had taken an ugly turn. The difference was, while other magical creatures had been hunted to near extinction, these gnarly creatures had simply burrowed themselves in the caves so deep, that nothing and no one could come back alive even if someone was stupid enough to venture beneath. It was rumoured that Boneslaw Ragnok, their king, had been killed by one of the other clan leaders in a duel and the victor had decided to distance the goblin population from the ongoing war. During the early days of their disappearance, some had still tried though.

The wizards under Lord Voldemort's banner were among those few who hadn't been able to swallow the theft of their family heirlooms and legacies that the little gremlins had taken with themselves underground and had followed them contemptuously. The ground had spat their nibbled bones days later. Their master had simply chuckled at their fate and ordered others to not venture into the caves again.

With not much gold and nothing left to conquer in the magical world, Voldemort had turned his sights to the only available target.

The muggles.

And as for the goblins?

They had never been seen after that. Not a single sight had been reported by either of the factions. Some, in the resistance, had tried to look for them in the parts they were known to burrow, but it had never yielded any results.

It was with these thoughts running through his mind, that Harry walked inside the proverbial red zone with Sirius in tow. They had both decided to use the final two doses of the, once again, pilfered Polyjuice potion from an apothecary down in Knockturn, before walking here. He had figured that even with every bureaucratic nonsense the goblins threw at them, it still wouldn't take them more than two hours to get it over with. They were _wearing_ the forms of two very nondescript wizards for this particular meeting. It had a likelihood of turning bad and bad to worse in a matter of seconds if any wrong wires were touched, so to speak. The primary reason for this subterfuge was to not let everyone in the welcome hall know their identities and if the goblins decided not to play ball, well, they were, as they say, fucked.

After the more than believable performance Sirius had given just recently, he had decided to bring him along as support in case things went awry. While he would deny it if ever asked, the reason for bringing Sirius was also because the man had impressed him a little by the way he had handled himself in front of the mobsters they had just robbed. He wouldn't have ever expected the cool, calm and collected Sirius to have ever existed inside the goofy man-child that was his godfather. Apparently, he'd underestimated him. He was pleasantly surprised by that.

Just as they approached, Sirius turned to him and asked, "So no hint about my family vaults, yeah?"

"No," Harry replied. "We will do that only **if **we are able to convince them about the things we discussed. And even then, not today. Too much too soon and we are bound to draw attention. It is the one thing we don't want. Not right now. Not when we aren't ready. I am taking a risk going to them as is. I don't think bringing up the tug of war that is happening between them and the ministry would help us any. Besides, now that we have _something_ to fill our pockets with, I don't think, we'd need your vaults this soon. And knowing the goblins, they'd dance on the table butt naked before they relinquished the vaults to the ministry with a legitimate heir still alive," he smirked, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"Hmm. Makes sense… Well, we're here. Let's get moving."

They approached the only vacant counter and waited for the teller to address them. As was their wont, the goblin didn't even pretend to look at them busy as he was with whatever that had captured his attention on the parchment he was reading. Seeing them still standing there patiently, he sighed irritably. "Business?"

"We represent a client who wishes to open a vault in your establishment, master goblin," Harry replied without preamble.

If the surly goblin was surprised with the civility in his crisp tone, he did nothing to show it. Simply writing down some words on the parchment, he gave a barked hail to one of his fellows who were standing nearby. A short conversation in a language that Harry knew to gobbledegook ensued among the two and with a snappy "Follow me" from the new fella, they were off.

He led them through one of the many doors that were situated on either side of the welcoming hall. A short walk through the small corridor and they came to a simple brown door which had the words 'New Accounts' engraved on it in thick black. Without waiting for them to enter or even knock, the escorting goblin took his leave and they were soon standing outside the door, alone.

Consolidating his thoughts, Harry firmly rapped on the door. A pause and they finally heard a muffled "Enter" from within. They walked inside to find themselves in a fairly standard office with maroon coloured walls decorated with certifications and the like. Right in front of them was a sturdy polished brown desk and sitting on it, watching them, was a shrivelled old goblin wearing a decent enough black suit having with an indent on the side that Harry knew to be a carving knife hiding beneath the clothing. While the modern times may have forced goblins to take on their secondary speciality for co-existing with wizards, banking, one forgot at their own peril that these creatures were first and foremost, vicious warriors with a sense of honour that belayed understanding.

A cough that one could not, in any way, mistake to be polite, brought their attention back towards the crotchety looking goblin staring at them with some intensity.

Sirius broke first.

"Client-requests-to-open-an-account," he blurted out. It wasn't that he was particularly afraid of goblins or this goblin for that matter. He had been around them loads of times before after all. But the difference between those times and now was that he knew for a fact that goblins hated being tricked and what with them coming inside their _den_ having polyjuiced themselves and everything, he was a little on edge with what the little creatures would do to him if they found out.

"Obviously," the old goblin sneered nasally.

If there was ever a moment that Harry wanted to palm his face, this was it. Clearing his throat to make the goblin focus on him, he began. "We have been tasked by our client to find out about his options if they were to deposit a substantial deposit in Gringotts. We were hoping you could help us with that."

This time the stare from the goblin was a bit less intimidating as if he had identified a slightly more competent and less time-consuming wizard among the two. "Certainly, wizard," he spoke, throwing the term as if hurling an insult. "We have three tiers we provide our clients. Tier-1, which is the high-security vaults with the protections and the like to keep away anyone and anything who isn't authorized by the client. Tier-2, which includes the medium-security vaults which have the protection of our guards patrolling them along with some basic wards and charms for added benefit. And Tier-3, the basic storage vaults which are easily accessible to our clients who do not wish to travel deep underneath our dwellings," he said, all the while looking straight into Harry's eyes continuing his efforts to frighten him for reasons obvious to just himself.

Harry knew this game. Had played it for quite many years during the early days when the resistance had just formed. Some part goblins, who had decided to stay on the wizarding side of the status-quo had the same habit of trying to make the wizards cower with just their gaze. While the purebloods did sometimes cave, having had brained into their heads since early childhood, how _vicious_ the _beasts_ could be, many others, who hadn't had such an education, had simply taken it all with more than a little amusement. Ignorance did have it's advantages after all.

As for the security tiers, many among the elites of their society were of the opinion that having a high-security vault with all its perks and assurances of safety was the perfect answer to prevent their family heirlooms, legacies and the like from being stolen. And what was left unsaid but was still understood was that having their family vaults among the high-security tier was a matter of prestige. A matter on which even the most liberal of families among the populace were known to have similar views as their die-hard traditionalist counterparts.

But what a few smart business owners had realized was that for the thieves foolish enough to cross the border of the Sovereign nation of Gringotts with a nefarious purpose, the best deterrent was none other than goblins themselves. Wards could be bypassed, charms could be broken, but what made wizards shit their pants was a squad of goblins with their knives drawn and murder in their eyes.

Unaware of the thoughts running through his head, the old goblin continued. "Apart from that, we have accounts divided into two categories. A trust account, which comes with its own vaults hidden inside Gringotts. This account is for those who wish to avail themselves of our investment services and a standard account which is just the same without the investment services. We also charge the standard maintenance and upkeep fee on a quarterly basis if the client opts for the standard account. A trust account has no such charge," he explained gruffly.

"I see," Harry remarked. "And what of the minimum amount that is to be deposited for any vault? I assume you would have certain stipulations for the customers who have less gold to deposit than the maintenance fee you are charging," he asked conversationally.

"You would assume correctly, wizard. As you said that your client was of the mind to deposit a _substantial_ amount, I thought that point to be moot," the goblin snarked. The sneer on his face as prominent as it had been the first time.

"Of course, master goblin. I was simply curious," he replied placatingly.

The old goblin simply gave a growled grunt and shifted his eyes back on Sirius who was trying to look nonchalant pretending to read the certifications hung on the wall. It would have been much more believable if the words on the hung up parchment had been legible from they were sitting. As they weren't, the goblin was very much aware of what Sirius was trying to accomplish.

As amusing as it was to see Sirius try so hard not to shift uncomfortably in his seat, he decided to proceed with the discussion. "I think our client would appreciate your services for a Tier-2 standard account vault. How long would it take for you to set that up?"

"As long as it takes for you to give me the approved ministry forms and for me to verify them, wizard."

"That won't be necessary, master goblin. Our client is a member of an Ancient House and is thus exempt from asking for any such approvals as written in section 240 subsection 13c of the Wizengamot financial practices bill, as I am sure, you're aware." Harry remarked confidently.

"Which your client would have to prove with a blood test," the goblin shot back.

"Our client had thought it might be necessary." He nodded. "He has provided us with a vial of his blood and an affidavit stating his request and confirmation of hiring us for this transaction. The affidavit, as per the standard practice has been signed with a blood quill in the presence of a ministry official. Both of which you can verify presently." Harry answered as he removed the vial from his robes and saw Sirius doing the same with a rolled-up parchment. They slid both towards the goblin all the while thanking Umbitch for her less than impressive reading habits.

The old goblin read the parchment with scrutinizing eyes before he reached the end and saw the signature. "Kent? Your client is a member of the Ancient House of Kent?"

"Yes, master goblin."

"Wait here," was all that the goblin said before he jumped out of his chair and exited his office briskly, the parchment and blood vial in hand.

"Harold!" Sirius hissed, turning to him with a jerk.

"Yes?" Harry replied, calm as ever.

"What the hell was that about? He could be calling the guards for all you know!"

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "No, he isn't. If he was suspicious the first thing he had done would have been to stab us in the back since neither of us had turned around when he walked towards the exit. Goblins have their honour, but in battle, it is highly skewed. And he did have the affidavit and the blood vial with him. For all we know, he might have just gone to see if everything's on the up and up, "he reasoned.

Sirius looked slightly mollified at that. He took a few moments to think about what Harold had said and realised that it was still a thin argument. And moreover, it was very much unlike Harold to be this uncoiled in potentially dangerous territory. But before he had a chance to say anything else, the doors opened again and the old goblin entered.

Taking his seat and turning around to look at them, he grunted. "Before we agree to your client's requests for a new account, there is an issue that needs to be resolved. House Kent has certain dues that are pending. Dues that have been culminating interest for well over a century. I have verified both the affidavit and the blood, they seem to be in order.

"However, before we open a new account, Gringotts requires the previous dues to be cleared. I have the accounts ledger for House Kent's finances with me here," he indicated the moderately sized leather-bound book in his hand, "and as far as I can see the dues after adding the interests are coming out to be around thirty thousand galleons. While they did have a Tier-3 storage vault in their name, the overdue maintenance charges for it has compounded over the years as per our policy in case of negligence to pay. If your client cannot clear those first, we will be forced to inform this to the ministry _after_ we have paid your client a _visit_ ourselves." By the end, the old goblin's tone had taken a threatening edge. When he was looking forward to seeing the cowering faces of the wizards sitting at his front, it left him somewhat confused and a tad angry that all he could see were the smiling faces of the two wizards he was doing his utmost to terrify.

Seeing an opportunity to get his dignity back somewhat, Sirius took charge. "That won't be an issue, master goblin. The first deposit from our client should more than cover the cost," he smirked before taking a more pensive look. "However, there might be an issue," Sirius paused, looking at Harry.

"An issue?" the old goblin growled.

Having caught the look, Sirius gave him, Harry continued. "You see, our client, after their departure from the wizarding world quite a few years back, shifted their monetary focus onto the muggle world and invested quite heavily there. From what we have observed in their portfolio, they have done more than well for themselves. Since the family has expressed their wish to return to their roots after their extended sojourn, they have decided to deposit some of their earnings in your fine establishment. As most of those earnings are in multiple muggle currencies as are his assets, our client was wondering how a transaction of such a nature would be handled," he asked with heavy curiosity tinging his tone.

The old goblin eyed them with more scrutiny than he had until now. It was clear to him that the two wizards were hesitating to state everything openly, as suggested by the fact that they hadn't even let slip the name or even the gender of their client. He supposed it was possible for the two to be versed with _some_ business tact. But what put a bee in his bonnet was if their client was as wealthy as they were making it out to be, the accepted practice was to decrease the exchange rate depending upon the size of deposit or deposits the client was willing to make, a thing any goblin, including him, was loathed to do.

There were more than a few wizarding families who had assets in the muggle world and while they were monitored heavily by **both** them and the ministry, there were times when the corners were known to be cut. It was just good business. Hoping to get some idea of the numbers involved, he replied with his usual snark. "Such a transaction would have to be covered by an actual account manager who would be assigned to your client's house, wizard. And since you have wasted half an hour from my schedule I will need some basic idea of the amount to assign you to an account manager who will then handle everything pertaining to your client's business with Gringotts."

Sirius looked at Harry with furrowed brows asking for the course of action. Now that they knew that they were not going to be dealing with this particular goblin for their future banking needs, there was really no point in divulging more information than they already had. But it was still not a decision he could make on his own though, so he went with his usual modus operandi and deferred the question to the kid.

Doing the math in his head and coming up with a satisfactory number, Harry responded to the goblin's query. "The total amount comes around to be about three hundred thousand pounds, I believe."

The ever-present sneer on the old goblin's face stretched at that. The worthless wizards had stated that the amount had been substantial! Three hundred thousand muggle pounds were less than a hundred thousand galleons! While it was, in a way, a significant sum for an average wizard, the clients that Gringotts catered to pulled this much in their quarterly interests. If his King hadn't put his foot down about the treatment they were allowed to give their customers, howsoever moronic they seemed to be, he would have been pulling out his knife to carve himself some wizard skin by now.

Seething internally, he pressed his thumb on a rune carved on the stone wall behind and addressed them again. "Your request will be here soon," he hissed.

Knowing a little about the current internal goings-on of the mined halls of Gringotts as he did, Harry could guess what had set the old goblin off. But he could also see that it was an opportunity that he hadn't thought of before. One, he couldn't allow slipping from his fingers. His original plan had been to simply walk inside the bank and open an account with a series of small deposits that wouldn't tip of either the ministry or the goblins.

But this…this gave him an idea of pulling off something that no magical had ever been able to before. He also knew the animosity between the goblins and wizards would work in his favour here. Giving a mental fuck you to the F**Ǥ**MOS unit, he drove ahead. "Actually, master goblin. We were hoping to get someone from the Boneslaw clan if we could. Some of our clients have worked with them in the past and they seem to have always appreciated their polite, no-nonsense attitude," Harry requested, ignoring the subtle questioning glance he was receiving from Sirius for going off-script.

The goblin was about to reply with the standard response of denial to any and all courteous requests made by someone who wasn't their direct client, as stated in their employee's manual, but stopped midstream. An evil glint entered his eyes as he realized the excellent opportunity.

With the Boneslaw clan being the holders of some of the most prominent accounts, what with their clan leader being the King of the Goblin Nation, they didn't have many experienced account managers left to spare. Any, who accepted this new account was bound to be a youngling. If he referred a new account to a Boneslaw youngling and he performed well, then he could very well gain some respect from his king, who was bound to hear the news. And if the youngling bungled it up, then he could be the one to decry the Boneslaw clan and earn some respect from an opposing faction he was hearing whispers of. It's not like the King could leverage him, he didn't have anyone left in his clan, having lost them all in the duels that they had initiated in hopes of getting their hands on some mighty big accounts. Liking his chances, either way, the goblin wrote a small message on a piece of parchment and dropped it in a hole directly adjacent to his desk.

Plastering the sneer back on his face, he responded to the foolish wizards seating at this front. "Done, wizard. Now, it will be 20Ǥ for consulting and another 10Ǥ for acquiescing to your request."

"Of course," Harry replied easily. He turned to his side and bit the insides of his cheek from openly grinning at his godfather. "30Ǥ please, Thomas."

Grumbling a little under his breath, Sirius dove into his robes and brought out his money pouch. A flick of his wand and the required galleons floated into the open pouch sitting at the old goblin's desk which for some reason, glowed a pale green.

As soon as they were done, a knock sounded on the door. A young goblin entered the office and after a quick look at them, addressed his older fellow. "You called for me, Master Bowrod?"

"I did. There is a request for a new account. These wizards here," he pointed his clawed fingers where they were sitting, "represent the client. The _consultation fee_ has been charged and paid. I have verified the blood as well as the affidavit for their Class17F client," he said, handing the required documents to the young goblin.

"Understood, Master Bowrod," he replied eyeing the parchments before he turned his head towards them and with a simple command of "Follow me" left through the door.

Harry and Sirius jumped from their chair and after a simple nod at the old goblin, who didn't even bother to notice the gesture, followed after the surprisingly agile youngling. It was clear to Harry after what had happened in the office just now, that there was no such thing as a consultation fee for simply asking a query off of the greedy goblins. It was only his wish to leave without actually leaving an impression other than that of an average foolish wizard that had stayed his hand. It _may_ also have been that he didn't want to miss seeing Sirius grumble a bit for having to part with what little money he had left.

Really, who could say it was one or the other?

Seeing the time on his watch, Harry nudged Sirius and they both took a swig of the potion from their flasks which, as an extra precaution, Harry had spelt odourless. Whatever happened next, they only had a single hour to conduct the business and get out of the place before their forms started changing.

Soon they were walking inside a similar office to the one they had just left. There were some subtle differences though. Like the colour of the walls and the portraits that hung on them. While the old goblin seemed have favoured maroon, the walls in this one were pastel green that had the images of some goblins, presumably of his own clan, showing them engaged with wizards _and _even other goblins in pitched battles. Directly behind the desk, the walls were lined with ornate looking axes about half the size of an average goblin. As far as unity among the goblins went, the office wasn't portraying much of it with its appearance. Harry was eying the goblin as he moved towards his seat when he noticed a wound on his left shoulder.

'_Either he decided to roughhouse with his kin as is their nature _**_or_**_, the mutiny began earlier than I thought it had. Hunh! I'd have to gamble a bit here,' _he thought, cringing internally at having to bank on variables outside his control again.

It was when the goblin began to speak that he moved his attention to his eyes. "Good evening, gentlemen. I am Boneslaw Dasez of the Boneslaw clan. I manage many smaller accounts as well as several smallholdings with the apothecary down in Carkit, being my biggest client. As I have understood from the briefs Master Bowrad has given me, your client wishes to open a Tier-2 standard account and as quite a few of his assets are in the muggle world, the deposit needs to occur after the exchange from the corresponding muggle currency to galleons. That is to say nothing about the dues that are owed to us beforehand. Is that correct?" he asked without a hint of irritation or snark colouring his tone though Harry was sure he could hear a touch of something he couldn't quite identify, disappointment perhaps?

"That is correct, Mr Dasez," Harry replied instead, having not quite able to match the professionalism in the goblin's tone with the usual snide from his kind.

"And the deposit is around…" he flipped through the parchments given by Bowrod, "three hundred thousand pounds, yes?"

"Actually, it's a bit more than that," Harry replied even as he spied the slightly confused look on Sirius' face, presumably for going farther away from the discussed plan. Again.

"More?" Dasez asked suspiciously.

In response, Harry burrowed the quill and parchment on the desk and after writing something, slid it towards Dasez. "This will be the first deposit."

Dasez looked at the number written on the parchment and a fanged smirk graced his crooked lips. "If I didn't have the parchments with me verifying the veracity of your request, I might have had to bring out one of my axes just to show you what happens to the wizards who come here simply to waste my time. Such a shame," he sighed theatrically, "it's been a while since I've had to use them too. Well, as I **have** seen them, It is my duty to inform you that by the laws of your own kind, I am required to report this transaction to the ministry and my own superiors," the goblin replied, scratching his sharp-clawed fingers on a groove in his desk.

The young Boneslaw was hoping to see at least a hint of fear in the two wizard's eyes as he had in many before who had come to him with a request similar to their own. _'And they_ _always seemed to change their tune as soon as they are informed of this little tidbit.' _While he saw something akin to that in the eyes of the wizard who had thus far remained silent, the other one was to be smirking openly. He was about to up the ante when he saw the wizards move the quill and parchment towards himself again.

Harry simply wrote three names on the parchment and passed it onto the goblin who was eyeing him and Sirius dangerously. He knew what he was attempting was risky. Hell, it was probably similar to standing in the middle of ministry atrium without his wand and listing out the laws he had broken in the span of a single month. But what made him go ahead with the half-baked scheme he had come up with was the timing of it all. It seemed to him that the King and the clans allied to him were moving onto the few goblins who were suspected of dealing under the table with the wizards for services that Gringotts had been explicitly forbidden from catering to. It was written as much in the recent treaty they had signed with the wizards. While it was a good thing for the wizarding world as a whole, it was an even better opportunity for someone who knew this dirty little secret.

Someone like Harry.

As soon as Dasez read the names on the parchment, he _moved. _In a blink of an eye, he had an axe in his hand and had jumped onto his desk **_and_** was swinging it towards Sirius who hadn't had a chance to even understand what was going on. The swing impacted a metallic shield that had sprung up suddenly with a mighty Thwack!

Sirius meanwhile had gathered his wits and was scrambling backwards having thrown himself off the chair in a hurry. His wand was in his hand when he saw the goblin looking not at him, but at Harold.

The goblin had been surprised when he hadn't felt his axe make contact with the wizard's neck. His surprise increased tenfold when he noticed the shield that had propped up in front of him and his prey. Turning his attention to the one who had likely conjured it, he was about to jump towards the fool who had had the audacity to take away his prey when his eyes caught the look on the wizard's face.

His blue eyes were shining ominously and with his face, a mask of nothingness, the wizard was looking at him with steel. A wand, polished black, the tip glowing dangerously red was pointed right at him. The air in the room had suddenly turned frigid and he could feel a pressure on his shoulders that pressed on him pulsingly. Before he could think of his chances of successfully beheading the obvious threat, the wizard began. "You would do better to rethink your stance on this Boneslaw Dasez. Since the discussions began, I haven't once doubted your intelligence. It might be prudent for you to do the same. Before you swing your mighty axe again, you might want to be sure that we are the only ones who know of these names. Because if we aren't and this is just a _few_ things we know about the current regime, your King might not be very happy with the consequences of this impromptu duel," he said, looking threateningly at the axe-wielding goblin. "I'd suggest you return to your seat so we can proceed with the discussion. Or else there'd be one less goblin in the Boneslaw clan, I can promise you that," Harry finished in a resolute voice.

Dasez would have scoffed at that if he hadn't seen the metallic shield sprung up in less than a second from the glowing wand of the mouthing wizard. His kind were the fastest creatures on land and more so when engaged in combat. He was not shy enough to not admit that he was faster than many in their nation. For this axe to be stopped by the magic of a wizard was not something that he had ever expected could happen. While he _was_ young, by human standards he was well over sixty years of age. It was common knowledge that goblins lived twice as long as Wizards but even with all that he had seen of wizardkind, he was certain that not many wizards were capable of such magical prowess as had been shown by the one still eyeing him dangerously.

With the patience and tact that many in the Bonslaw clan were known for, Dasez retracted. He knew the wizard's words held some truth in them. While he wanted nothing more than to cut the two wizards in pieces, the fact was, he didn't have any clue what exactly and how many knew of the secrets that Boneslaw clan was keeping from the world at large. Even the news of Boneslaw Ragnok being declared the Sovereign King of the goblin nation two years ago hadn't been dissembled to many. For a wizard to know about that and actions the king had taken since, was dangerous, to say the least.

With a growl, he returned back to his seat and after putting his axe back inside his desk, bared his fanged teeth and barked, "Speak, Wizard!"

Harry looked askance at Sirius to see he was alright. Receiving a nod from his clearly miffed godfather, he flicked his wand and the shield disappeared. They both returned to their seats, still holding onto their wands. Even though the goblin had sat back down, with the speed he had shown, there were no guarantees the situation wouldn't repeat itself. When they were settled, Harry began. "Now, that the excitement is over, I am simply asking for your indulgence in a proposition that I believe, would be profitable for our client, Clan Boneslaw and in the long run, perhaps even for goblin nation as well," he said cryptically.

"I do not need to hear platitudes from your silver tongue wizard! Your words of false friendship mean nothing to me! You will tell me how you knew of these names and how many other than you hold this knowledge or else…"

"Else nothing Boneslaw Dasez," Sirius interrupted. Ever since he had stepped inside Gringotts he had been more than a little worried about getting caught and the consequences after. He had tried to gather his nerves but whenever he had gained some courage, the fucking creatures had shown those fanged smirks and he had lost himself to the warnings that James' mother had filled their heads with.

"_The worse thing that can happen to a wizard is to die by the hands of a goblin. A fight with them doesn't usually end with just one blow. They drag it out so they can enjoy seeing the light leave your eyes. And what people tend to forget is, at least with others, you don't have to worry about getting eaten alive."_

This and many other ominous words had raved inside his mind picking at his courage whenever he thought about getting caught inside the mined halls of these creatures. But now, when he had been a hair's breadth away from getting his head sliced, his perspective had changed somewhat. For one, he realised that he wasn't exactly alone in this adventure and for another, Harold seemed to be on the ball with the whole 'not letting Sirius get killed' thing. Whatever names Harold had written in that parchment had been enough to crack the goblin's calm façade which could only mean that they had leverage. With that thought in his head, he decided to channel his inner Gryffindor and stopped the goblin before he gathered more steam.

"You have _seen_ what we have. You _know_ what this information can cost you. We have the leverage here, not you. My colleague here was simply trying to get you to understand that fighting with us here wouldn't gain you anything. What do you say we set aside whatever happened before and get back to the subject at hand?" he asked, wishing to get things back on track. Just because he had realised that he wouldn't necessarily get killed here, didn't mean that he had any wish to stay any longer than required.

It took a couple of minutes for the atmosphere in the office to return to normal, or what passed as normal for a situation like theirs.

Dasez having collected himself, for the time being, spoke, "What are you proposing then? The ministry would know when you move this much amount of money from your client's muggle bank to here anyway. They have their ways. I am sure you are aware of the F**Ǥ**MOS unit?" he replied questioningly.

"We are. And you don't have to worry about them. The money isn't in the bank and as stated previously, it is in multiple currencies so there is nothing about this transaction that will paint a target on our client's head or yours, for that matter. Once the money is in the vault, there is nothing they can do about it anyway. The Wizengamot has strict rules regarding anything that deals with the family vaults. One thing that even the F**Ǥ**MOS unit can't do anything about given how much they are congruent with the Albion Magics. What we need is for you to be quiet about this arrangement on your end," Sirius said, knowing that his next words were bound to catch the goblin's attention. "Look Mr Dasez, it doesn't even have to be just our client who is getting something from this. In addition to keeping your secrets, I believe our client would be more than happy to give you your fair share for keeping things between us," he added, dangling a metaphorical carrot in front of the goblin.

As was his thought, the goblin's posture shifted a bit at that. "That would make me nothing but the scum whose names you are using to do this, wizard!"

Harry caught onto that thread. "Ah, but the difference here is that we are not asking for information on your other clients. We are simply asking you to handle this transaction between our client and yourself as Gringotts is known to do. Wizards have chosen Gringotts as their bank for centuries because they know they can trust you to be private about such things. Why the Dwarves in the Swiss Alps are apt in financing as much as you are. Why do you think our client chose you and not them?"

"Our client has big plans for the future, Mr Dasez. There is a reason the account we have chosen is a Tier-2 standard account. None of the influential families has their vaults in that tier. But they are still big enough for the business owners who have substantial earnings. Since you folk don't seem to get involved in duels for any accounts that don't have family vaults, you wouldn't even have to deal with those pesky little things. Barring, of course, the ones who would come after you for a simple reason of proving themselves your betters to their brethren. But having seen you in action, I'd say you can handle them easily enough. Considering all that, this is a big opportunity for you, don't you think?" he asked knowing how much inherent greed of the goblins would work in his favour.

If Sirius had any doubts about Harold's age, they were all extinguished seeing him interact with the goblin. It was clear seeing Dasez's face that he was contemplating the offer rather than looking for a way to end them both. To be able to change the tune of a fiery goblin in a matter of minutes, it was a tall order. And Harold had done just that. And that too using the knowledge that everyone in the wizarding world was already aware of.

It was common knowledge that goblins hated dwarves for being able to match their banking skills and the laws regarding family vaults were a matter of public knowledge as well. True, the first strike had been a hit because of the names that Harold had thrown about, but to have gained a knowledge of inner happenings of the goblins that were essentially making the young goblin sweat internally, it was no simple feat. If he wasn't satisfied by now that Harold was fighting the good fight, he would have been very scared right about now.

Sure, he knew that Harold was still keeping many secrets, but he knew that it was simply because they hadn't known each other for long. The kid-wizard had even shown him another memory message from Harry after he had come back from meeting one of his people at the drop off point yesterday. Hearing his godson's happy voice and the bond that still pulsed with the same intensity in him as it had before made him want to help Harold even more than before. Though for some unknown reason the memory had also nudged at the uneasy feeling in his gut that he'd been having ever since his meeting with Harold in the tea shop down in Carkitt. Despite that little feeling, the truth was that they needed to make the Wizarding world safe enough for Harry to be able to live here without any danger. And for that, working with Harold and his people was the best course of action. At least for now.

Seemingly done with his own internal debate, Dasez spoke up. "I'd have to inform my King of this, at the very least," he remarked, willing to at least hear about the transaction, even if hypothetically. Not that the wizards needed to know that.

"That would be a problem," Sirius said with a hint of worry tinging his tone.

Meanwhile, Harry was sifting through his memories of everything he had heard or had found out about the procedures and laws of the goblin nation when something clicked. He still needed to confirm somethings though. "Actually, it might not be. How frequently does Gringotts conduct personnel audits?" he asked.

"Every six years or so. Earlier, if an account manager declares the accounts they are managing to be high valued assets. The last one happened a month ago." the goblin replied promptly.

"Hmm… And are there any specific parameters that define an asset to be a high-value one?

"Not particularly. If anything, it's a prestige issue among my kind," realisation donned in his eyes as he goblin gave a toothy smirk. "You are not as foolish as others of your kind, wizard. But what makes you certain that I would not declare your account as a high-valued asset?"

"1 per cent," Harry replied calmly, leaning back in his chair.

"5 per cent," the goblin shot back, understanding where the wizard was going.

"1 per cent and I wouldn't give the list of other names to the offices of Daily Prophet," Harry countered.

"You do that and you wouldn't have any leverage left and I could simply inform your ministry of your deeds," Dasez growled threateningly.

"Perhaps. Perhaps. But is that before or after your King takes your head off your shoulders?" Harry asked with a matching smirk.

For a tense moment, it looked like the Dasez would take to his axe again. But when the young goblin's shoulders slumped they knew. He was hooked. "It is not a permanent solution. The King would hear of this, if not from me then by the time the next audit happens."

Harry shrugged. "We weren't hoping for a permanent solution, Mr Dasez. Our client would need only a few years to get all his ducks in a row and by the time your King hears of it, I am sure, he'd be proud of you for earning one of Gringotts biggest clients to date," he said enticingly.

When he saw that the goblin just needed a gentle push, he rallied. "Tell you what though, as the client has authorised me to do the negotiations on their behalf, I'll even up the stakes. Write up a contract with everything that we have discussed here. Add a stipulation that if the information our client presents you doesn't yield at least 30 per cent profit of the invested amount for the first two years, they will give up half of the gold they'd have in his vault by the end of **their first deposit**. And furthermore," he rallied through ignoring Sirius' attempt to catch his attention, "you are authorised to make the first ten investments according to our client's information using his money and they wouldn't even ask you to establish the account as a trust account, foregoing the perks he would get by that. 25 per cent of which will be your share." By the time Harry was finished, the goblin **_and_**Sirius, both were looking at him with wide eyes as if he had gone insane.

Shrugging of Sirius' attempts to retract him, which had turned from nudging to outright smashing his foot on his, under the desk, Harry looked straight at the bewildered goblin. "Look, Mr Dasez. Our client has had a larger portfolio in muggle assets than any of your present clientele. Kent family values their privacy. Not many in the muggle world know their name. And that is by design. Our client has earned their wealth by remaining anonymous and betting on the right horse sitting back in the bleachers. They loathe any form of bindings on how and where they should be spending their money which is known to happen when the muggle government knows who you are. To prevent something similar happening here as well, they have had to choose this course of action.

"Another reason is that they have children who seem to have set their eyes on going to Hogwarts. Since the children would probably want to settle here, our client believes setting them up financially from the start is the right move. If you can play a part in that, well, I am sure I don't have to tell you that you won't get a better opportunity than this, do I?" he asked as he finished his spiel. If this didn't turn the goblin, nothing he said any further would be able to.

Dasez was dumbstruck at the stupidity he was seeing from a wizard who he had thought to be better than others of his kind. He was setting up his client to fail with the kind of contract he was asking him to set up. No investment he had ever done had gained even 10 per cent of the profit and the smaller holdings were known to be the top gainers. With a stipulation like that, that gold was as good as his own. He was trying hard to figure out how the wizard could be playing him but think as he might, he couldn't understand the how of it all.

One thing the wizard had said was true though, he would not ever get a better opportunity than this.

With the impulsiveness that spoke of the lesser experience of the young goblin, Dasez agreed with a single sharp nod. "I'll have the contract written up and waiting tomorrow, gentlemen. We can discuss other particulars then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do in addition to figuring out the details of our little arrangement," he said before jumping down from his chair, clueing them in that they were stretching their welcome.

Getting the message, Harry and Sirius got up from their seats. Harry picked up the piece of parchment on which he had written the amount for the first deposit and with a single nod to Dasez, both left the office.

It wasn't too long before they were walking on the streets of Diagon just outside the bank. When they were sufficiently away from the goblin territory, Sirius cuffed the back of Harry's head. "What the fuck did you do, Harold?! Is that why you planned such an elaborate heist, hunh? Just to fill up those damn creatures' bellies. I cannot believe you just promised him half of the money. And here I was thinking you had some brains in you after all," Sirius shook his head disappointingly.

Harry looked at his godfather and sighed. There hadn't been any time to fill Sirius in on his impromptu plan. It was understandable that Sirius would react the way he did. Things like these didn't even register on his problem radar anymore. The fears he had of disappointing his family had long since passed. He had accepted the fact. He _had, _in fact, disappointed his family. He had disappointed his parents by turning out to be a killer, had disappointed Sirius by letting him die by making the stupidest mistake of his life, he had even disappointed his wife by letting her get killed by the hands of the craven monsters who haunted these lands. He had been carrying the weight of all these disappointments most of his life. He was pretty much used to it by now. And it was these disappointments that had given him the right perspective.

Turning slightly to look at Sirius, he replied. "You have trusted me this far, Sirius. I am just asking for a little more for a little while longer. I know what I agreed to in there looks like a foolish deal but it is anything but. You will know it soon enough. And just to prove my point, did you see the amount I put up as the first deposit?" he asked patiently.

Sirius looked at him in confused anger before replying, "What does it matter how much you put up?"

Harry simply handed him the parchment with the quotation of the first deposit written on it.

Sirius stopped mid-step, his eyes fixed on the piece of parchment. When he saw Harry had moved on ahead, he hurried to catch up. "Harold it's…its just…"

"Just a quarter of the stash, yeah, I know," Harry interrupted. "I have no wish to trust the goblins with more than I have to. We'll only be depositing half the money with them. I have plans for the other half. The gob…" He paused mid-sentence when something as a sudden realisation struck his brain.

'_The old goblin!'_

Bowrod knew the connection between House Kent and a new account opening request. If the DOM had any contacts at Gringotts and he would bet his ass they did, he was screwed. He did a quick rehash of the conversations from their meeting in his mind and reached a single conclusion. He had to limit the exposure. And there was only one way to do that. "Sirius, I forgot, I had to buy some things from the apothecary. I am running low on some of the ingredients and the **_lunar eclipse_** is in two days. It is more than likely we would need some to brew some potions for the _activities_ we have planned for then. I'll meet you back at the cottage, yeah?"

Sirius frowned at the sudden interruption in their conversation but decided to let it slide. He could get his answers back at the cottage just the same as here. Nodding at the kid-wizard, he left for the nearest apparition point.

Harry briskly walked inside the bank knowing he was running close to the hour for the effects of the Polyjuice potion to start wearing off. Asking for and getting the permission to see account manager Dasez, he walked to his office. Knocking once he entered without waiting for a reply. Before the goblin could say anything, Harry leaned over the goblin's desk and wrote just one word on the parchment.

Bowrod.

Dasez's eyes widened again when he understood what he meant. He jerked his head upwards to look right at Harry and hissed. "Him too? You're sure?"

"I would tell you the client he has been colluding with as well, but I am sure you wouldn't like to be involved in the wizarding side of things. Seeing as I got the information from my source just a couple of minutes ago, I'd best hurry if I were you," he replied cryptically. Even if the young goblin decided to investigate the claim, he was sure, with the kind of thoughts that had been running in Bowrod's mind from the brief legilimency he'd performed on him, the old goblin had mere days to live. Which helped him just as much as it did Dasez. And if he made the young goblin believe that he had an inside source within Gringotts it would just be the icing on the cake.

His message given, Harry walked out of the office and had barely managed to get himself to the apparition point before his body started to shift back.

It was a close call.

But then again, with his luck, it was bound to be nothing but.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Amelia Bones was in her office, trying and failing to concentrate on the moderately sized stack of parchments on her desk. The newest debacle from the Minister had generated quite a significant amount of follow-ups for many departments in the ministry, which obviously included her own.

What wasn't helping, in the slightest, was that everything that was required for them to be able to actually file their work, they had to requisition from the Minister's office. Be it the evidence from their various raids to a simple inquiry regarding the proper forms filled by the Aurors under the Minister's staff.

She had already received warning disguised as a generic statement from Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, _twice_, which stated that as the nature of the operations conducted during the apprehension of the dark forces was covert, Minister's office had sealed most of the reports and evidence under their authority which conveniently superseded everyone else's and for the security of the realm, it could not be bypassed, by _anyone. _While it had made cursing the bitch that much appealing, it still did nothing to help her or the other department heads with the matter.

It had been a little less than a week since she had had that _enlightening_ conversation with Auror Captain Robards. When the shock of it all had lifted, she had spent a couple of thoughtful afternoons analyzing how she could go about unravelling the mystery. Since then, she had tapped many of her informants within the ministry, mostly muggleborn clerks, and found a multitude of discrepancies in the timeline that the Minister's goons had given her. They were isolated things, nothing that any other department heads would even look at twice.

One such example was the requisition forms for many Grade-1 and Grade-2 narcotics that have been filed much_ later _than they were stated to have been used on a _person of interest_ in a report one of Robard's boys had submitted.

It was understood that during an investigation, especially during covert operations, the paperwork did tend to get filed later than it was required to be. Hell, there were instances, she knew, where the correct forms had been found to be missing from the case files altogether. While the Aurors working on those cases had been severely reprimanded, mostly by her, the truth was as simple as that, such things were known to happen. But what wasn't known to happen nor was accepted, if found out, was the same thing happening with most of the other departments all in the span of the same period of time _and_ the missing collaborating reports from _anyone_ working in those departments.

And that was just one example. She was sure that there were numerous others that were hidden within the many files that had been sealed and possibly redacted under the authority of Minister's office.

While other department heads may have been placated by the Minister – given his recent rise to popularity, some might even be beckoned to his side by the weighty gold in their pockets – but after her chat with Robards, alarm bells were ringing in her head a hell of a lot louder than they had ever before.

As such, when she had seamed together these facts, it gave away many chinks in the story that the Minister had fed them all.

Even so, the simple truth was that even if she could get her hands on some of these transcripts which she couldn't, considering that they had been for_ 'Minister's eyes only'_, they would be dismissed as nothing more than circumstantial by the Wizengamot.

She had tried to send a few probes among the few obtuse people close to the minister but even they had been without success. It was disheartening, to say the least. The embers that had lit in her eyes when she had first caught Robards in his little lie were dimming in their intensity. The history was repeating itself. The chance to see the monsters suffer for murdering her brother and his family was slipping from hands, just like it had once before.

She was very close to descending to her previous pattern of ignoring everything else but her family when she heard a knock on her door.

Sighing irritably at the interruption, and promising herself to dock Miriam's pay for not doing her damn job, she barked her consent. "Enter."

A shaggy-haired head peeked in and she smothered her desire to curse out loud. It was as though she had _just_ started noticing that she had been surrounded by morons most of her working life and that they were getting bolder by the minute. First had been that bastard Robards and then the _minister__ of action_ Cornelius _Obstinate _Fudge himself, and now _him._

This particular moron had been circling her for quite some time. Given his reputation, she was somewhat sure of his intentions. What confused her though, was his subtle hints about certain individuals that had been involved with him in the supposedoperation. Either it was his bizarre way of getting her attention or the time he had spent among the other morons had addled his brain. The Sirius Black she knew, little as she did, hadn't been stupid. Cheeky, Yes. Somewhat sapid, yes. But stupid? No, Sirius Black had never been stupid.

His voice brought her out of her thoughts. "Madam Bones! Hope you're well?" he asked, flashing her a smile she was loathed to admit was quite charming.

"Well enough, Lord Black. How can I help you?" she said, coming straight to the point and gestured with her hand for him to take a seat.

Sirius seemed to deflate a bit at that, presumably having understood that she wasn't in the mood to be _charmed._ "Ah, we will get to that. But first, I believe I should tell you that for this meeting, at least at first, I will be playing the part of a messenger, _Regent_ Bones," said Sirius, taking the offered seat.

If he was hoping for an active response from the woman after referring to her other title as the Regent of Noble and Most Ancient House of Bones, he was sorely disappointed. Amelia's only visible reaction was an elegantly raised left brow.

After a short staring contest, in which Sirius' face didn't betray his thoughts as she was hoping it might, she sighed. "May I ask who this message is from, Lord Black?"

"Certainly," Sirius replied.

When he didn't say anything else, she scowled at him. "Well?"

"Well what, Regent Bones?" asked Sirius, his voice tinged with suppressed humour.

Amelia visibly collected herself and breathed in deeply to keep herself from strangling the man. "Who. Is. The Message. From, Lord Black?" she asked with gritted teeth.

"That, I am afraid, I _cannot_ disclose at the moment," Sirius answered, emphasizing his _supposed_ inability.

Now, _this_ caught her attention. "Do you expect me to believe that you, a Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House, bound yourself to an oath?" she asked sceptically.

Sirius' face didn't change and he replied with his usual nonchalance. "Something similar, yes."

Intrigued despite herself, Amelia motioned for him to continue.

"You see, Regent Bones, I have been approached by a house to float an idea in front of you. They wish to see how willing your house might be of _joining _your house with their own by the way of matrimony. Now, it's nothing concrete yet, they simply wanted to understand how Lord and Lady Bones would react to such an offer. It is their understanding that Lord Bones have named you Regent for the house because they do not wish to indulge in the political quagmire that is our Wizengamot. Hence I was asked to approach you. I wouldn't even consider doing such a thing for anyone if I hadn't discovered that House Black owed them a favour or two in the past. And since we do, I am _asked_ to inquire about your opinion on the matter." Even as he started speaking, Sirius was _signalling_ with his hands, putting two fingers on his left ear, he made a cross sign with the other hand once and then waved it twice.

If Amelia was expecting anything, this was definitely not it. While she had known Sirius to have been an Auror years ago, to see him use a skill he had learned, howsoever briefly, in such a manner was highly unusual, even from him.

Though she had understood his signal, she was still considering whether to give him what he wanted even as he completed the gibberish he was spouting off for anyone's benefit. There have been many assassination attempts on her in her long career as a field operative and then the Director of the DMLE. This looked like a moderately good enough setup for another. It was only her strong belief in her still sharp skills with her wand and the confidence that she could drop Sirius relatively quickly before his hand reached anywhere near his wand coupled with a chance to talk to a person who had been involved in the latest mess the ministry was hosting, edged her decision towards granting his request.

Hearing Sirius still droning something about what the _offer_ from the mysterious house entailed, she gave him a sharp nod and replied, "Of course Lord Black. I appreciate you coming to me with such a request. I believe the idea wouldn't have been entertained by my Lord Bones. But a better way to approach would have been something much less formal. A lunch get together perhaps? For now, though, this meeting is impeding my working hours and as you can see by the parchments stacked on my desk, I have much to do still. How about we meet next week? I am sure I'll be able to fit you in my schedule."

Sirius got up from the seat and moved towards the door. "Much appreciated, Madam Bones. I will send an owl with their answer, whatever it may be. Thank you for your time." With that, he opened the door and closed it with a soft thud.

Sirius was still in her office though. Having just played the scene for the benefit of the possible listener in case of her office having any listening charms or the like.

With agility that came with experience, Amelia took out her wand and in a scant few seconds, her desk was warded with an Auror grade silencing ward. When she was about to open her mouth to speak, Sirius lifted his finger to his lips and brought out his own wand and started casting a spell, the wand movements for which, she hadn't ever seen before. And considering the kind of knowledge she had, it was saying something. She felt was something akin to a wave pass through her, the telltale signs of a ward encompassing her. Thinking it to be similar to an anti-surveillance ward of Black's own, she uncoiled slightly.

"Now that you have got your cone of silence, mind telling me why this was necessary and what you _really _want, Lord Black?" she asked without preamble.

"Sirius, please Madam Bones. I believe the conversation we are about to have will need some level of trust and familiarity between us," Sirius said before getting back into his just vacated seat.

Amelia looked at him with sharp eyes for a moment before she slowly nodded. "Very well. Amelia then. Now please answer my question."

Sirius nodded. "This was necessary, yes, because there are people in your department that have access to your office. No matter how sure are you of their allegiances, the people who asked me to take this meeting are sure that at least some of them, if not all, are answering to someone else besides you. Possibly multiple someones." When he saw she was about to tell him off or something similar, he spoke quickly. "Now, this isn't about that. Not for the moment, at least. This is about something much more important."

"You are alleging that some of my people are spies and you consider that not important?" she asked, anger lacing her tone.

Sirius was unperturbed by her tone. "At this moment, no, I do not. As I said, the matter I wish to discuss is far more important," he said with a grim expression.

Taking another deep breath and forgoing the issue of him being sent to her by someone else, Amelia sat back into her seat. "Alright then. You have five minutes to convince me. If you fail to do that, you and I will be crossing wands,and I assure you, _Sirius_, you will not be coming out _untouched _when I am done."

"Fair enough," he shrugged. "let's start with some simple questions first. You have read the reports of the recent operation?"

"I have. What of it?" she replied, tightening the grip on her wand that was sitting on her thigh.

"There were some names mentioned in one of the reports you received from Auror Captain Robards. What are your thoughts on the criminals who were reportedly killed?" Sirius asked. Even though he had posed it as a question, Sirius was sure that she understood what he was implying when he saw her eye twitch, ever so slightly.

"I think they got what anyone would if they broke the number of laws those _criminals_ had broken," Amelia answered not quite able to keep the pretence of normalcy when talking about the butchers.

"Hmm. Even Mr Runcorn, Amelia? You think he got what he deserved?" Sirius asked intently.

"As I said, they were criminals who had broken quite a number of our laws. They were given every opportunity to change their ways and they failed to do so. What happened in the operation…I support it," she answered.

Sirius had to hand it to her. She had said that with more calm that he knew he'd be able to muster if he was asked about the bastard he'd had to end. Regardless, he drove ahead. "I see. But correct me if I am wrong, I was not really in my right mind back then, having just lost my two closest friends, so there is a possibility that I may be mistaking the name, but I did hear that a Runcorn was killed in a raid conducted by you and your team during the time ministry was capturing the squirters after Voldemort fell. Now, I know of only two Runcorn brothers on either side of the spectrum myself, and since one of them is still alive and at present works in your own department, can you help me understand how a guy who was already K.I.A. got his name plastered on the list of casualties for an operation conducted five years later?"

"Why don't you tell me? You _were _involved in the operation after all. You would know the details better than I would, wouldn't you?" she shot back.

He paused. "I would, yes. But let's put a pin on it for now. I've got another question though… When did you get so rusty?" he asked almost conversationally.

"Excuse me?" As soon as the sharp words left her lips, everything below her neck down went numb at once. The wand in her hand slipped from her fingers and went clattering down on the floor and she dropped back in her chair as if her strings were cut. She was aware of everything around her, could see it just as she could before, but what she couldn't do was feel her body respond to any of her directions. It was highly disconcerting for a woman who wanted to be in control as much as she did and it showed as much from her scowling face and dangerously glaring eyes. While they did contain a little fear in them, the retribution that they promised, was far more prominent.

It was too bad for her that her _captor_ wasn't much bothered by it. Sirius slowly stood up from his seat and flicked his wand at the doors, locking them shut.

"You see, a young friend of mine and I, we each have a theory," he began. "Me? I think that you have lost your way, Amelia. I think that after years of fighting _and_ losing against these corrupt politicians and these murdering savages, you have finally decided to give in. Well, if you can't defeat them, join them. Right? So you have stopped pointing fingers and started dipping them in the same sludge that runs through their veins. Nobody would blame you for that. It's understandable. Human nature in fact," he shrugged.

"But my mate, he…he thinks you're just grown weary, Madam Bones. That you have grown tired of all the machinations and all the ploys that administrations like this one have been pulling long since. He thinks that given hope, you will get back up and join the fight again. He thinks that you still want to believe that someone, somewhere is doing something to prevent these vermins from taking over, even if you can't do anything about it anymore. He thinks that your blood still boils when you think about Edger's murderers getting away without so much as a slap on their wrists. That you think of ripping their hearts from their chests when you are alone at night. That you're still, deep down, waiting for justice **nay** for **_revenge_**."

By now, there was magic rolling off of Amelia in waves. While she couldn't escape her invisible bonds nor could feel her body, her fierce-looking eyes glared daggers at Sirius even as he circled her desk as he spoke. But even then, she didn't let the tears in her eyes leave her stony eyes. Sirius was sure that if he let her loose this instance, he would not have been able to save himself from her wrath, even with his wand in hand.

No matter her response, this was necessary. He and Harold had fought over this very thing for hours. Harold was of the mind that they couldn't yet trust the woman because of her actions and more importantly _inactions_ as of date. And his own thinking was along the lines of bringing Amelia into the fold if only so they had another inside source excluding him.

But it didn't change the facts. The fact that whatever decision they made, they had to make sure that she wouldn't become a liability. The reason for such a thought was the results of their research into her. They had found out that the rate of successful prosecutions in the past few years had dwindled from an acceptable to a free for all. The day to day happenings of the Auror department was more or less being handled by one of her Master Aurors, Rufus Scrimgeour, in Amelia's stead and he was doing a shoddy job of it. Amelia had, for all intents and purposes, given up on prosecuting any and all criminals by herself even when the Aurors in charge of the cases had been able to collect ample evidence. It was no secret that Scrimgeour had his eyes set on Amelia's chair ever since her claws had been cut. And Scrimgeour being the political animal that he was, was playing his cards in favour of those who would back him in his race to become the new head of the DMLE.

It was truly disheartening to have to find out that the state of affairs of a community that had boasted to have birthed the most wizened warlocks of all times to have degraded this low.

While this didn't mean that Wizarding Britain was becoming a thief's paradise, considering that the matters that involved the head of DMLE to take part in person were few and far between, it still did affect their community. The Aurors were still doing their jobs and an average witch or wizard still lived their lives in relative peace.

But the big fish, the cunning savages, those death munchers, they still broke laws almost unimpeded.

For it to change and for them to know if they could bet on her, Amelia needed to be vetted.

Thoroughly.

And this was what he was doing right now.

He wasn't really bothered by the power rolling off of her. Harold had taught him the ward he had used earlier. There was no chance of her escaping. One thing he had learned about the kid was that he had a repertoire of spells that anybody would be hard-pressed to match. And Harold had promised him that the containing ward was capable of handling much more than what Amelia was capable of. What it didn't save him from though, was the murderous glare that he was receiving from her.

Soldering on, he attempted to channel her thoughts towards a proper target for her release. "I want to be wrong, Amelia. Oh, you have no idea how much I wish myself to be wrong. We may not have worked together even once, but the Amelia Bones I had heard of from the other Seniors was a resolute woman. She never admitted defeat. Never. Not when the odds weren't in her favour. Not for anything. Now I see here a woman who did nothing while the beasts picked off the carcasses of innocent at their leisure. What happened to that bold woman, Amelia? What happened to the woman who still wished to save the world? What happened to her, Amelia? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?!" he shouted, his face close enough to her's that he could feel her hot, jagged, burning breath on his face.

"THEY KILLED HER BROTHER, YOU BASTARD! THOSE SAVAGES BUTCHERED HIM! THEY TORE HER WORLD APART! THEY KILLED EVERYONE! EVERYONE! They killed everyone…they… and they…got away…with it," she broke down after that. Sobbing, as tears, hot and fiery, flowed through her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. The emotions she had suppressed all those years, at this moment when she was bound and reminded of her failures, they all flared back again. Her inability to save the ones she loved. The blood, sweat, and tears she spent, all to see the monsters getting away without their comeuppance. The hate she felt to see them walk away unscathed even as she could see the blood of countless innocents from their hands. The numbness that followed. The pain and the heartbreak. It came alive again.

"Let it all out, Amelia," Sirius soothed waving his wand to remove the containment ward. When she moved to slap him, though he could see it coming, he let her. Catching her hand in his he held onto it. "Let it all out…"

Her body seemed to move on its own as she leaned on Sirius and let herself go.

She didn't know how long she cried, remembering her brother. She cried for her loss. She cried for everything that her brother had missed in his life. His family. It had been his greatest treasure. She cried for so long that when she finally came to, her eyes were rimmed red and her voice was hoarse. What surprised her the most was that Sirius was still sitting right beside her, holding her hand.

Seeing her coherent enough, Sirius looked right in her eyes. "The bastards who wronged you, Amelia. Those kinslayers, those butchers…I am _not_ one of them, Amelia. I am not one of them. I think it's about time you knew the truth. And when I am done, you'd know why I had to do what I did. And when we're done with that, you'll have a present waiting for you.

"The one you've been waiting for all those years."

When she looked at him, more than a little confused, he gave her a savage grin in return.

"I have a feeling you'd remember this lunar eclipse forever, Madam Bones."

-x-x-x-x-x-

**~ Review Please ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, but the chapter was long enough that it took me a while to make the corrections and post it.  
  
Elements used in the chapter –  
  
0\. Peelers, bobbies – British slang for cops.  
  
1\. Roy Francis Adkins was an English gangster. He was a recognized London gangland figure during the 1970s and 80s. Adkins started his career in robbery and, as with many criminal figures during that period, moved into drug smuggling, primarily cannabis.  
  
2\. Klaas Bruinsma was a major Dutch drug lord. He was shot dead on 27 June 1991 by organized crime member and former police officer Martin Hoogland. He was known as "De Lange" and also as "De Dominee" because of his black clothing and his habit of lecturing others. He was regarded as the most powerful drug smuggler in Mexico and with an estimated wealth of $25 billion also the richest trafficker.  
  
3\. Cleaning the money refers to laundering it. Making black money white. Of course, not in the literal sense. XD  
Stay Tuned for more :)
> 
> 4\. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?  
Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running.  
Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it.  
And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting.  
Thank You.  

> 
> -x-x-x-x-x-


	10. Lunar Eclipse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

"…_watchers_ report everything is right on schedule with the target, Senior Chief."

"Good. Agent Chen, any update?"

"Yes, sir. Things are moving as they were after the stage-op we conducted last month. If it continues the course, we will have the result we were hoping for."

"Good, make sure it stays that way."

"Yes, sir."

"Next. We have a situation coming up tomorrow. As all of you _should_ be aware, tomorrow is a lunar eclipse. Aside from the leaders, packs will be hiding in their territories. No snouts, out and about, gentlemen. We'll have eight hours to complete every single job that was deemed too volatile or not high up on the priority chain in the areas we know to be pack lands. I know we have two pending field inspections for a possible _fire_ _seed _farm on the northern and southern borders filled with werewolf packs that are still waiting on the table. So, Agent Marlin and his team will take those jobs. Agent Marlin, I am sure I don't have to tell you how important those fire seeds are for us, do I?"

"No, sir!"

"Good. Every other job will be assigned by the office and every team has to take at least one. Pick and choose, gentlemen. You don't get this kind of opportunity often in our department. If done right, your teams will get enough experience in the element with little danger. For those amongst your teams interested in categorical data research, this is where you get to shine. I will be expecting successful job reports sitting on my desk the day after. Don't disappoint."

"**YES**, **SIR!**"

"Alright. Next up, tier-2 briefs. Agent Bernard, any updates in your spectrum?"

"Yes, sir. The watchers assigned to target-154 have reported a change in the situation."

"A change?"

"Yes, sir. As we discovered in the last year's Intel packet, target-154 was involved with another target, ICW-DOM watcher tag-ID I-2156. The ICW-DOM federation was keeping loose tabs on target I-2156. Target-154 seemed to have done a runner with his money."

"And your watchers were present when target-154 bolted?"

"No, sir. They were working on target-160 in Nottingham at the time. When they were on their way back to West Yorkshire, they were close enough to a Priority Delta Alert, sir. They were responding to the call."

"Agent Bernard, the only job for a watcher is to _watch _their targets. The protocols are there for a reason. I agree as far as the excuses go, a damn Delta Alert is a good one but we have other units for that. And as I remember it, the alert was responded to _and_ cleared away by Agent Chen's team. Watchers are not to leave their positions till their shifts have ended. We have limited watchers as it is. Remind your men their duties, Agent."

"Yes, Sir. I will, Sir!"

"Good. I want those watchers in the _freezer_, for a night."

"…Uhh. Sir?"

"They broke protocol, Agent. No matter the cause, the rules are there for a reason. You break them and you get punished for it. No excuses. No nothing. A night with the _lethifolds_ in the freezer is sure to let that sink in. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Good. Now, are we sure, nobody from _our side_ was involved in this incident?"

"Positive, sir. Watchers checked out the area. There was no magical residue anywhere in the building. We don't have any recording crystals in the area and the _trace_ _net _doesn't cover it on account of us never having any records of a magical living there, past or present, but watchers have reported no unusual activity before or after the incident, Sir."

"From his file, I gather that target I-2156 resides in Kiwi-lands. We know it's an area with no local DOM surveillance. Did you reach out to ICW-DOM for any reports on him?"

"Yes, sir. We have received a report that as soon as they got Intel on target-154's actions they dispatched two watchers for Kiwi-lands. They had target I-2156 getting _admitted to a hospital_ a night before. They checked, sir. He was there."

"And target-154's compound? I seem to remember reading a report about him owning a storehouse for his _activities._ Any **_exposure_** there?"

"No, Sir. The watchers checked there first. There were five bodies of his men. All wounds were from a muggle gun. No magical residue there either. Muggle policemen are reporting that the target had all his men collect the money and then killed them in the storehouse. We were able to find that he had charted an _aero-plain _to Bulgaria. As we are not authorised to operate outside our borders, watchers lost the trail after that."

"Alright, good enough. But just to be sure, tap our contacts inside Gringotts and ask them to sound out anything unusual there. If it's clean, send a report to ICW-DOM that we have checked and cleared the situation. Mark the incident as _non_-_exposure_ and file it."

"Yes, sir."

"That leaves us with you, Agent Bode. Any luck finding your safe-house burglar?"

"…Uhh. Not yet, sir. No."

"Hmm. You know, that's not a word I'm used to hearing from you, Vincent. It may not be a priority case but it _was_ a significant breach. Put a rush on it."

"Yes, sir. Will do."

"Alright people. That's it for this week's brief. Agent Marlin, submit the minutes for this meeting to the office."

"Will do, sir."

"…Uhh. Sir?"

"What is it, Agent Bode?"

"I don't… I don't think we can find the thief, sir. At least not with what we have at the moment. It's not about capability or throwing enough resources in the field to catch this guy. We don't have his magical signature on record. And even if we did, we have nothing to match it with. The safe-house was clean. The only things stolen were some potions and a wand. A wand with _suppressor_ _runes_ etched on it. The only people who even knew of the safe-house were our own agents, sir. Unless he strikes again, we won't have any leads. And if he does a job as clean as he did the last one? We won't have anything, at all!"

"We are not greenie Aurors, Agent Bode! We don't have words in our dictionary that spell out CAN'T. There are mysteries abound in our world. They are only mysteries until we find a way to demystify them. We do. We have done. And we will continue to do it! You are an Unspeakable for this sole reason. Make sure you live up to that. You have some more years left in you, Agent Bode. I don't think you'd survive an early _retirement_. Or am I wrong?"

"No, sir! We'll get him, sir!"

"Good. Dismissed."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Walking into his office with a soft smile on his face, Dumbledore ignored everything and made his way directly to his ever so pleasantly warm chair. The day had been every bit as productive as his usual ones from the recent past. And a slightly more tiring as a result.

He could still feel a hint of annoyance on his tongue that he always felt when he had to deal with the Minister. It had taken well over two hours to explain to the man why he couldn't let his _dear friend_ Lucius know about the real situation at hand. Even then, he'd had to resort to some_ magical_ _means_ to make sure that no one in the minister's office revealed a single thing to anyone besides the ones who were already in the know.

But the fact was, it was not as easy as it used to be. There was a time when he used to get things done by the dozen. A time when the work didn't seem so tedious as it did now.

As was it's wont, time was catching up to him.

He could hear creaking noises from his bones now and that was nothing compared to the slight sluggishness that followed his every movement. Things were coming to an end it seemed. Not soon though. No. He still had some years left in him. Years that he had long ago promised to spend saving the world from itself. And if he was honest, it was the hope that he would save many souls along the way, that was keeping him going. There were still people who needed to be redeemed, needed to be saved from their past selves. Every step he had taken, his every concoction had been towards one simple goal. The betterment of the wizarding world.

But there was a question that had started haunting his dreams now. There was always that one whisper he heard when he lay awake at night.

'_Was he enough?'_

He had pondered that question over and over again ever since things had diverted from the track he had railed them on. It could not be denied that there would always be a need for a leader. Need for that one person who could make the hard choices. The one who looked at the bigger picture rather than the things that were just up ahead.

To treat the world as a mass of thousands rather than the individuals that made it a whole, a daunting prospect if there ever was one.

The world was still breathing today because the leaders have had the courage to rally through their short-sightedness. Every successful leader who had the responsibility of others on his shoulders had to think about everyone rather than just their nearest and dearest. It was the only way to preserve what they treasured the most. Hundreds of families were still alive today because one had sacrificed everything. They were heroes, true. But even if he would have had to take a more _active_ _role_ to reach this state of events, he would have done so. Simply because someone had to. Someone had to be _brave_ enough to do the _right thing_. To make the masses understand what they were foolish enough to discard in their juvenile need for what they mistakenly thought was justice.

The greater good.

It had to be observed.

Maybe it was time to prepare the one who could carry the torch in his stead. Perhaps it was time to foster the one who would become his legacy.

The prophecy spoke of the _two _of them. Perhaps there was an answer there?

Before he could ponder some more on those errant thoughts, he heard a knock on the door. Busy as he was with his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed the charm that alerted him to someone's presence on the circular staircase leading to his office door. Brushing off the cobwebs from his mind, he gave a quick reply of, "Enter."

The one who stood at the open door though was not he was expecting to see at the moment. While he knew she would not be satisfied with the vague answers he had given her, he had somewhat expected that after their last _conversation_ it would take a while before she was able to regain her _equilibrium_.

"Minerva," he nodded, "Is something the matter? I do not believe we had a meeting scheduled," he asked, somewhat confused at seeing her at such an hour.

A stiff nod from his deputy gave him a certain idea that whatever had caused her to come to him was not going to be as simple as a scholastic issue.

"No, we did not, Headmaster," McGonagall replied, coming straight to the point as was her usual modus operandi. "It has been two weeks since you gave me your usual half-truths about the situation at hand. I told you then and I am telling you now that I simply refuse to believe the preposterous lies that the ministry is spouting off! I am are here to get the answers you owe me, Headmaster. And I will not be leaving your office without the truth." she stated, visibly controlling herself. Every single word she had uttered had been said with the composure that came with her station but there was still an undercurrent of suppressed anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Seeing that the situation would evolve any second now, Dumbledore attempted a rescue. "Calm down, Minerva. Please, sit. I can understand how the current news may be affecting you…"

"YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING, ALBUS! I am not here to listen to your triter platitudes! I…I have to know. I have to… I can't… To see James and Lily's legacy discarded like this…" she choked, unable to continue. A few angry sobs escaped her and she collected herself lest she did something with her fiery temper. "Please, Albus. I deserve the truth. I cannot live not knowing what happened to James' boy. Please…" Tears started falling from her eyes as she lost her composure.

Dumbledore knew he had to salvage the situation and stop his deputy from reaching to conclusions that could and would derail everything. Their world couldn't afford another upturn so soon. It had been a minor miracle that the public had eaten everything up the way they had. The proper dissemination of information the way he wanted would likely take years, but the initial reports hinted that things, as they had portrayed them to the people, was being accepted. He supposed that the new and _refreshing_ stance of the Prophet to be _clear and transparent _about such important news was to thank for that. Regardless, he had to settle things on this front.

Things had been much simpler with Hagrid. Though the gentle giant had been very upset when he found out that the bundled baby Harry he had escorted to Privet Drive was, in fact, been another child, he had admittedly understood why Dumbledore had done so. Had even said that he knew why Dumbledore had to _trick _him as he did. A moderately powerful _loyalty_ _potion_ in his meal that night _might_ have helped. But it was simply because he knew that without his guidance and protection, their world would not let Hagrid survive as he was doing now. If Hagrid, in his anger, walked away from him, he knew things would not go well for him in their community. It was for the game keeper's own good that he had done what he had.

But to settle his fiery deputy as he had done Hagrid was a hope that belayed foolishness. One that he had no intention of making ever since he had concocted the plan to bury the news of the boy's demise from the public.

Minerva, he knew, required a _different_ kind of touch.

Putting on a weary visage, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as if what he was about to say was difficult for him to do divulge. He had been **_prepared_** for such a turn of events. He knew she had been close to James and Lily. For her to not want to know what had happened to their son was unthinkable. Sighing deeply, he replied. "You have a right to know, yes. But your right was never in question, Minerva. What I feared was what the truth would cost you. Alas, I cannot protect you forever. It is time then. Time to _show_ you the truth." With that, he stood up and went to the hidden alcove to the side and pulled the glowing basin from within.

"I had hoped that you would believe the events as they are being told. But I can see how foolish a hope it was," Dumbledore said, tapping his wand at various runes on the surface of the basin both his visitors knew as a pensieve. With some concentration, he touched the wand to his temple and pulled a memory from his mind. A very specific memory that he had _acquired_ when she had arrived seeking answers for the first time, hearing the news.

Though he was loathed to do it, it had become a necessity to remit their desires to reveal the truth to people. And in the end, he had _convinced_ Minerva to do the one thing that could take some of the pain of her loss. The whole act had required judicious use of _confundus_ _charms_ and the like. And though it had left a bitter taste in his mouth, he had gone through with it just the same. He had come to realise that with his actions as they had been, he had committed himself to the path too much to have let a moral dilemma wrench the victory out of his hands.

As the memory swirled inside the pensieve, he tapped a few more runes and an ethereal image of Minerva was looking at them both from within the pensieve. Dumbledore tapped another rune and memory-Minerva was projected outward over their heads.

Though she was surprised at first, McGonagall was paying close attention to her memory-self. Best as she could tell, by her slightly younger form and a little less grey hair than at present, the memory was a few years older.

"…_there is nothing left of them then? Albus? Is it true? Did he…did he really kill the boy too?" asked a visibly quivering McGonagall._

"_I wish it were not so, Minerva," replied the saddened Headmaster._

"_But…but…I just saw them. I just saw them last week. How…how could…" tears filled her eyes as she smiling faces of her friends flashed through her mind._

"_We might never know how Minerva. What we do know is that Lord Voldemort somehow got past the defences we had erected for their protection. When I arrived at the scene he was attempting to flee the cottage house. I did then what I had to do to stop him. But if I am being honest with myself, I had not thought I would live through the experience," he paused and shook his head a little as if trying to dislodge the abhorrent memories of the duel with the Dark Lord._

"_I am working with the ministry to find what happened but the new Minister has decided on something much more radical," he sighed rubbing the middle of his brow._

_Though she was quite upset hearing the news of the Potters' demise, Dumbledore's last words did pierce her emotional state. When she looked at him with a confused tear struck face, he explained._

"_Voldemort's supporters are amassing to avenge their master. It is likely to be a dangerous affair. Ministry is trying to de-escalate the situation but I fear it will take months if not years for our world to heal from these wounds._

"_Minister has decided upon a course of action that might help us catch many of Voldemort's agents. I can not tell you what it is yet as I have met the man just once and he has asked me to keep the people who know about what happened on the night in question to a minimum," Dumbledore explained._

_He looked straight at the slightly swollen eyes of his deputy and asked with a heavy voice. "I must ask something of you, Minerva. You will loathe me for it. And you should. But for the safety of our world, and your own, I must ask you to make this sacrifice."_

"_Wha…What is it, Albus?" McGonagall asked in a quivering voice._

"_Your memories. The fight that is about to begin will be more dangerous than even those that we have been fighting until now. The dark forces will be more desperate with the loss of their master. Their depraved activities may soon escalate to much more heinous acts. I cannot let you be in such danger, Minerva. They know you were close to the Potters. Perhaps not as close as their other friends, but many knew of your relationship with James. They will hunt you down just for that. I do not doubt your resilience, but I fear it may not be enough._

"_What the ministry has planned, I do not agree with it. I have tried to reason with them but my hands are tied. They have threatened to depose me as Chief Warlock. While I do not care for the title, if I am not present within those halls when the trials commence, they will crucify every single soul they get their hands on, innocent and guilty alike." He averted his eyes as if trying to hide the burden that was visible in those heavy blue eyes._

_Silence filled the room as none present uttered a single sound._

_Some time passed before McGonagall replied. "James' family gave their lives to protect us. I cannot let their sacrifice be for nothing. I can't let it be in vain. What do you need me to do, Headmaster?" She asked, for once sounding like a proud Scott she was._

_Dumbledore looked at her with pain evident in his eyes. "I need you to forget…"_

"_I will do what I must," she interrupted resolutely._

_Dumbledore nodded resignedly._

"_I promise, you will not feel a thing, Professor McGonagall." He pulled his wand out of his sleeves and made a slow circular motion with his wand._

"**_Obliviate_**_."_

Just as the memory-Dumbledore intoned the spell, the memory ended. Minerva was looking at the space where her memory-self had been standing with wide eyes. Her eyes were unfocussed and glistening as fresh tears started flowing from her eyes. Whatever she had thought been the reason for Headmaster's actions, she never once had thought this would be it.

"I…I knew?" McGonagall stammered.

"You did," Dumbledore replied with a heavy sigh.

"I agreed…I agreed to do this? How could I? How…?" she asked herself, looking more than a little lost.

"I know it hurts, Minerva. I know it pains you to realise this truth. I can only apologise that I could not spare you this pain. I can only apologise…" he stopped as his eyes grew moist. He did not move his eyes from hers though. He needed her to believe that the decision, false though it had been, hurt him just as much as it did her.

She had lost her centre since she had lain eyes on her memory self. She could not fathom the ease with which she had agreed to such drastic measures. While the reason was more than sound and if it came to it now, she knew she would do the same thing, but the nonchalance with which her memory self had relented was something hard to swallow.

But then she saw the face of her mentor and things started to make some sense. She wiped at her cheeks to rub off the tears that were still leaking from her eyes. She knew how much burden the old warlock had to take on his shoulders to keep their world from collapsing into the dark. At that moment, when Albus looked so old, so fragile, she realised that his every action, every decision that he had to make, had added another mark on his psyche. Anyone else in his position would have given up by now. But not him. Not this man. He had rallied through.

She regained the will with the strength she was known for and looked at his form and thought back to the times when this man had helped her when she had was being drowned by the weight of her own demons. How he had brought her back from the nothingness when her husband had been killed at the hands of the same butchers that had ravaged their world. If nothing else, this man deserved her unwavering loyalty. He had, even when he knew it would hurt him to do so, decided to take her painful memories just so she and the rest of the world would remain safe for a little while longer.

She reached a conclusion that she never thought she would even consider, walking towards his office this evening. She couldn't let this man continue to take the burden alone.

She would be what she always was, his deputy.

Before she could say anything, Dumbledore spoke up again. "I cannot begin to fathom the feelings you must be feeling after seeing this, but there is only one place I know we both can find some solace," he said as he held a hand for her to grasp.

It took a moment for her to take hold of his appendage, and when she did, a sensation of passing through a narrow tube washed over her and a moment later her feet were again on solid grounds as heavy breaths filled her lungs.

She saw Dumbledore looking over at the lone sign at his front and suddenly she knew, where he had taken her.

_Godric's Hollow._

The kissing gates of the cemetery rattled and swung forward as the shaking hands of the Headmaster forced them apart.

Without prompting, she started walking beside him. The place was as comforting as ever. A complete contrast to how a cemetery was supposed to feel. In the past five years, she had visited the site more times than she could remember. Every single time she had, it had felt as if a strange warmth had enveloped her with that first step inside the graveyard.

Soon they were standing near the two graves.

'_In the loving memory of  
James Potter • Lily Potter  
27 March 1960 – 31 October 1981 • 30 January 1960 – 31 October 1981  
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'_

A single bouquet of white rose was already laying there, possibly by another, wishing to pay their respects, but she had only eyes for the two names. The two people who had been taken from the world before their time.

She saw Dumbledore draw his wand and mutter some a spell under his breath. The two graves that had been there previously shimmered as if a mirage in the scorching heat.

When the world settled again and her eyes caught the scene, a gasp escaped her. Where there had been two graves before, now there was a third that had somehow appeared right before her eyes.

'_Harry James Potter_  
31 July 1980 – 3 August 1986  
Beloved Son - Our Salvation'

"I had this done after they were buried. I…I couldn't keep young Harry away from his parents." His words seemed too heavy to her. As if the action had taken something from him. She knew it would not have been an easy decision to make. To hide this from the world. To take this from a family when they had already given so much. He had taken it all upon himself still. Had lived underneath the weight of this guilt ever since that day. All of this…just so he could protect them all.

She knew then.

She could not let him do this alone.

"I…I do not know if I would have had the courage to do what you had to do, Albus. If what the ministry is saying is true and these lies have helped catch those…those heinous criminals…" she paused. "I may need a few days to understand how I feel, but I do not blame you for this, Albus. I…I cannot," she said looking at him with compassion filled eyes.

The hunched form of Albus Dumbledore rose a little at that. His moist eyes looked at the woman standing beside him as if not expecting this turn of events. With a simple nod, he acquiesced to forgiveness.

They stood there late in the night, each in their own thoughts. One, commiserating the loss of her friends and their son, and the other…eulogizing himself for a job well done.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Pavo cristatus. The white peafowl. A leucistic creature whose flaw marred existence still made it one of the most beautiful birds in the world. Not for nothing was the bird called a sign of prestige.

As he saw the peafowl pootling in the garden, a smirk formed on his lips. It certainly was _his_ sign of prestige.

To think those filthy muggles used to hunt this magnificent creature. Boorish neanderthals, the lot of them. His kind knew better though. It was said that this bird was a harbinger of good fortune. Well, his luck had definitely changed after he had brought the marvellous thing from his brief visit to Burmese forests.

As the bright rays of sun touched the grass at his feet, he turned his thoughts towards his present dilemma. It was truly becoming something akin to a mystery for him. Though he appreciated the good publicity and the perks that had followed, the vague reason that the bumbling fool Fudge had given did not sit right with him.

** _(Flashback)_ **

"_Lucius, I cannot tell you how it all came to be. We were all unaware until Dumbledore gathered my staff and laid out the plan. We have been oath-bound to not speak of it. There is little I can tell you," Fudge grumbled shiftily._

"_Such as?" Lucius prodded with an immaculately raised brow._

"_There are many who were slain in this operation, Lucius. Many of those we _**_thought_**_ had perished in the war. We found them congregating together and planning to bring back their master. I know that foul fiend had you at his mercy with the Imperius but Dumbledore warned me not to tell you anything about this. By the time I found an opportunity to let you know, he had already bound us with an oath," he commiserated. "But I knew you would have done your part if the old fool had just asked. The only way I could repay you for all you have done for me, even if a little, was to name you as one of the operatives," he explained._

"_Do not think of this as a debt, old friend. I did what anyone would have in my position. I was able to help rebuild our world, and I did just that. Our world needs a leader like you. And after this, there is no doubt in my mind that I did the right thing supporting you as I did. Though I have to confess, I do not feel right taking praise for something I did not do," Lucius replied without missing a beat._

_Fudge shook his head resolutely at his friend. "You would have helped if you had known. You deserve this for your contributions to our society."_

_Lucius simply nodded his head slowly in false modesty. "If you say so, minister…You said, Dumbledore set this all in motion?" he asked tentatively._

"_He did," Fudge replied._

"_I don't suppose he shared his reasoning with you?"_

"_You know him, Lucius. The man is as eccentric as he is cunning. I cannot even begin to speculate the reason behind such direct action."_

** _(Flashback)_ **

According to Fudge, it had all been Dumbledore's doing. And if Chief Warlock himself had set this up, there was no doubt in his mind that if the old fool caught even a whiff that he was asking questions, the consequences would only be worse for him.

The leader of light was not the paragon of good as he made the world believe.

He was not surprised that there had been some supporters of the Dark Lord that had been hiding and working on his resurrection. Their lord's influence was far-reaching. While they all had worked towards the same goal and under their master's banner, they all had different reasons for doing so. Even within their ranks, there had been many factions that had given their lives to their cause with varying amounts of dedication.

Self-preservation among the dark had always been paramount.

With what he had discovered, there was only one thing left to do.

He had to gather the **_old crowd_** and impress upon them the necessity of keeping their heads low and their noses clean. The light was on the prowl. They'd had to tread slowly.

If their master had waited this long for his servants, he could wait a little while longer.

Biding their time was, after all, the way of a true Slytherin.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry was walking down the familiar streets of Diagon Alley towards his dining spot for the day, Leaky Cauldron. It was the third day since he and Sirius had had that adventurous meeting with Boneslaw Dasez, who was now officially, the account manager for the Ancient House of Kent.

They had only done a single deposit since then, and as discussed, had signed the contract just yesterday. Him, as the Head of House Kent and Dasez as the representative of Gringotts. Keeping his word, Harry had even given the goblin two names and basic portfolio for their first joint investment.

He was waiting for the end of the quarter with bated breath. He had never really seen a gobsmacked goblin before. Especially when the cause of such a reaction had to do with one of their specialised elements. Gold.

Even with just a single inflow of galleons within his newly opened vault, Harry was now substantially wealthier than he had been in either of his lives. Of course, it was true that he couldn't compete with the oldest of the families who had established their roots in the country so long ago. But old money was just that, old money. Hoping to compete with that so early in the game was beyond foolish.

The Noble, Noble and Ancient and Noble and Most Ancient houses were given many privileges in their society. There was a reason for that. The collective taxes from Wizarding Britain and Ireland were barely enough to keep their society from collapsing, and when one added the corrupt officials and clerks in the mix, there was no wonder that the budget of _unnecessary _departments was being fractioned every year.

Without the generous donations of the old families, there was no possible way to balance the upkeep of their community. And when these families, in return, got the perks of said donations, well, it kept everyone satisfied with the status quo. Well, _almost_ everyone.

Some muggleborns and even a few Half-bloods saw it as discrimination. While it was, on paper, true but things in the world were never so black or white. While Harry was sympathetic with their plight, him being a Half-blood as well but when it came to this particular fascet of wizarding society, he understood the need of appeasing the nobles. Having been thrust into the role of a leader in the last decade of his life, he knew how challenging it was to manage or simply feed a small populace. And the resistance had been nothing more than a bundle of about a few hundred souls. To govern and provide for a population of around 100,000 witches and wizards living on the isles was a monstrous task indeed.

Harry knew of a validated rumour he had heard in his fifth year. The Noble House of Malfoy had donated **_half a million galleons_** to the underfunded St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

And that had been a donation of just a _noble _house.

When one thought how much the houses that were higher on the ladder contributed, **_yearly_**_, _it was enough for even the most greediest of thief's wet dreams.

So, no, he was not yet on the same playing field as those gargantuan Lords. _Yet._

Even with Francis' stash, the whole accumulation had been just shy of forty million pounds. Considering the steep exchange rate of three pounds to a galleon, the first deposit, which was just a _quarter_ of the heist, had turned out to be **_three million three hundred eighty-four thousand galleons _**and some change.

Not enough to play bid-wars with the elites, but more than enough to start his ventures. And it was more so because he had decided to not put all his eggs in one basket. He had already made some rough plans for the left three-quarters of the cache.

Goblins, he knew, were greedy bastards. They had already shown themselves to be capable of stealing the whole fucking crop of every single family in the British isles who had trusted them.

He had no intention of being a sucker like his fellow witches and wizards. No, sir.

Without realising, he was soon walking inside the Leaky Cauldron. As his eyes caught his own reflection in a nearby mirror, he frowned. It had been a couple of weeks when he had noticed something that was missing from his face. His glasses. Staying on the up and up with the hectic schedule he'd had to keep ever since his arrival, the smaller details had taken a back seat when they had nothing to do with his immediate plans. And his ability to see more than four feet ahead of him without the need for his glasses had been a smaller detail when compared with the shit storm that had ravaged his plans recently.

Magic could not heal blindness or poor eyesight. It was one of the _truths _that he had been taught when he had been in Hogwarts. There were spells and enchanted items aplenty to help the life of such differently-abled, but there was no rectifier. There were many objects which could be used to enhance one's eyesight, but they were meant for those who had reached their magical majority to impart magic through them unconsciously.

His return or the ritual had done _something_ to alter his physiology. It had been minute, true but it had been enough to give him better eyes than what Harry Potter had in his life. As much it had hurt to lose something that had connected him with his mother, he could not help but be pragmatic about the change. It was his cross to bear. To live with that loss.

Taking a look around, he saw there weren't many people who had chosen to dine in the establishment. It was understandable. Lunar eclipse did tend to cause feelings of unease among many who had seen, first hand, the butchery that those with fangs and claws could unleash.

While it was true that Lunar eclipse did tend to send most weres into hiding, it was also true that the event had an uncanny effect on those who had lost all touch with their every fleeting humanity. The inner wolf was a deadly creature. It sought out the moon for its release. When there was not even a hint of it in the sky, it wreaked havoc in his host's brain.

Many such weres had been eradicated by the ministry and for good reason. But every single person in the isles was aware, there were still some out there. And tonight, they were bound to be on the prowl.

But it was also an opportunity. Opportunity for those who revelled in such unease and fear. For those who preferred seclusion because their true-self would more than likely brand them as a beast, even among their own kind.

It was one such beast, he was waiting for tonight. A night stroll to a seedy bar in Knocturn had revealed that he would be meeting a _client_ here at the Cauldron. Hence his approach.

Harry had no qualms about tonight. No doubts had flared within him when he had planned this particular adventure. He knew the one he was hunting tonight deserved every single curse he was going to deliver to his cowering body.

He remembered this particular animal vividly. Had even received quite the _gift_ from him the night the resistance had been captured in Dunedin. The coward had slipped away after slashing his torso shoulder to hip.

A shiver ran through his body as slight phantom pains pulsed on his back.

The butcher had disfigured him.

It was time for some payback.

It was after another thirty minutes of waiting, that the man showed up with another party in tow. He was just as he remembered. Tall and muscular, with a thin, black moustache. A jagged scar on the left cheek. The ever-present sneer prominent on his face.

Walden Macnair.

Harry waited for a few minutes before he discreetly brought out his wand and covering it with the newspaper, tapped it against his ear. He furrowed his brows when nothing happened. He tapped it again. When he got the same result as before, he knew, they had cast some kind of privacy ward around the table. Though he knew he could break the ward, he also realised that it would require some time, considering the many types with which the ward could have been configured.

Well, there was nothing for it then. As it was he didn't think there was a need to listen to their conversation anyway. He already suspected what sort of _business_ _deal_ could be happening between them.

Macnair was an executioner who worked in the ministry. Seeing as there hadn't been an active need for one since all the dangerous breeds of dragons and other _Class-XXXX_ and _Class-XXXXX_ beasts had been moved to various reserves around the world, the man had decided to earn his keep by taking care of the _problems_ his _old friends_ sent his way.

Murder, kidnapping, racketeering, Macnair had his hands in all the pots.

But what made him different from his other _friends _was the love of his _craft._ The executioner's idea of a nice evening was carving up some poor sod on his table. They had found out later in the war that the fucker used to snatch muggle children from their homes and hunt them in the woods behind his secluded cabin. The cruelty of the tameless knew no bounds.

Neville had blown the bastard to bits in a skirmish when the executioner had made the mistake of leering at Hannah.

Not many had been able to keep their old selves alive after living the harsh reality of war. Neville had gained a hair-trigger by the time resistance was on its last legs. Many of them had. It had been a hard-earned lesson. In war, hesitation got you killed. Plain and simple.

Seeing the two sitting together finishing up their meal, he knew that Macnair had just got another name for his side business.

Not if he could help the poor schmuck.

As soon as the two parted ways and Macnair was outside the Cauldron, he followed. It was a relatively simple play. He had done much the same many times when the mission had called for him to be sneaky and undistinguishable.

Walking as fast as his small legs could carry him, he followed Macnair to the apparition point. If was fortunate that the executioner hadn't decided to use the floo. He would have had to resort to a _much_ up-close and personal approach then. As it was, they were just a few steps away from the ward line that indicated the beginning of the apparition point when he made his move.

There were still a few people out on the streets mostly the shopkeepers who had struck out this late hoping for last-minute business. Doing anything overt was bound to get their attention. But that was exactly what he was counting on. He had already applied a minor glamour on his face, so he wouldn't be recognized by any of those who he had previously been in contact with. These last few days in the alley had been busy with him purchasing many things with him having gained means to do so.

Just as Macnair was about to disapparate to wherever he had made his hidey-hole, Harry shouted.

"Pappa!"

A leap towards the man and before Macnair could do anything other than look bewildered at the child in his grasp, there was a pressure and a sensation of being forced through a tight rubber tube and with a slightly louder _crack _than usual_, _they disapparated.

A woman passing by shared a look with the nearby shopkeeper, both shaking their heads amusedly at the scene and voiced their thoughts at the same time…

"Children!"

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry and his _invited guest_ appeared from the ether, crashing together onto the cold hard floor of an enclosed basement.

Macnair somehow realising what had happened, recovered faster than Harry who was looking around the four walls as if waiting for something to happen. A solid kick to the chest snapped him out of his need for searching the ghost in the room.

"Not a bad try, little mate," taunted the executioner, walking towards his prone form. Harry meanwhile, laying in a curled heap, was busy trying to catch his breath after being slammed so hard in the ribs. The pain he could handle, it was a life long companion at this point, but the lack of air flowing in his lungs was making dark spots appear in front of his vision. Not a good thing when you have a mass-murdering psychopath hovering over you.

He had failed to account for the sudden change in axis when he had side-along apparated the man with him, mid-jump. The sudden shift had been more than a little difficult to manoeuvre against. _'And it's clear he was already on his guard, having expected someone to be coming for him,' _Harry thought as a pained grimace marred his face.

"…it seems you were a little slow in the execution, though. No worries, we were all novice once, eh?" Macnair continued his taunts, unaware and uncaring of Harry's musings.

Harry could see the butcher's boot coming for his face for an encore and with spots dancing in his vision still, all he could do was hope it would hurt less than the preceding kick to the ribs when the oncoming boot vanished from his periphery.

Out of nowhere, a jet of red light slammed into Macnair with enough force to send the man sprawling down backwards with a heavy crash.

Harry groaned and dropped his face on the floor with a soft thud. It had been a close call. He was sure that the last hit would have knocked him out had it hit its mark. He turned his face from where he was lying on the floor to see a sheepish looking Sirius looking at the scene, holding a sandwich in a hand and wand in the other. Seeing the immediate threat dealt with, Sirius turned his eyes upon him. "Oops?"

"You had one job, Sirius," Harry groaned in pain

Sirius rubbed his neck putting his wand back in his robes. "Yes, well, I got a little peckish waiting for you to arrive," he said, rubbing his neck with the hand _not_ having a _grilled_ _cheese_ _sandwich_ in it.

Harry took a couple of deep breaths to calm his furiously beating heart. It had not been his first beating. Not by a long shot. But it had still hurt even after all those years of _practice._ Plus this fragile young body that he was renting wasn't doing him any favours absorbing the pain.

"I certainly hope that snack was worth it," he jibed, scowling at his godfather. He was more than a bit annoyed at getting his arse kicked from one end of the room to another but knew some fault laid at his feet as well.

Leaving _Sirius_ of all people to _wait_ for his arrival.

Really, what else could have happened when his back up was an easily bored man-child who had nothing to do but wait in an almost vacant basement.

He had to let it go though. He had learned, from prior experience, that time was a very crucial element when you had a kidnapped person lying unconscious in your basement. "Off to see Bones?" he asked instead.

"Yeah. I am still not sure how that would go but you're right, it is the right play for now. We can't handle all this by ourselves. Things are getting bad to worse and I for one can't see the end game when everyone is busy politicking from days on end." Sirius replied clasping Harry's hand to haul him up.

"There will _always _be people playing politics for days on end, Sirius." He shook his head. "Anyways, Sure you can handle her? I don't know her as much as I know _of_ her and from what I have heard, ward or no ward, that woman knows how to handle herself even without a wand in hand."

Sirius waved off his concern with a hand, "I think so. I'd have to play it by the ear, I think. I didn't know her well enough back when I was an Auror. Sure we all knew about the hardy spitfire that was Amelia Bones but yeah, I don't have a clue how she'd react to the things I'd have to tell her."

Harry patted his pant leg to remove the dust from his fall. "You can always entice her with the **_present _**that'll be waiting for her here."

"I am not so sure she would fall for such an overt askance. She might very well think that I am being suggestive about myself," he grinned. "Now that I think about it, it could work." Sirius dodged a shoe coming at his face. "Hey!"

"Merlin help me, Sirius, I will neuter you if you bungle this up. I did not get my arse kicked so you could make gooey eyes at the Director of DMLE!" Harry glared.

"Oh, relax. I'll be nothing but a perfect gentleman. You'll see. She'll be chanting my name like a mantra by the time I have brought her here with me."

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose to wave off an oncoming headache. "Just go, Sirius. I can only handle one nuisance at a time and Mr Macnair is currently occupying the first spot for that."

"Righto," Sirius said walking out of the small basement room. He had some news to break to the delectable Amelia Bones. Really, he had this in the bag. The woman wouldn't know what hit her.

Harry ignored his godfather who was merrily whistling on his way out and turned his attention to the unconscious Macnair sleeping off by the flour sacks in the corner.

A contemptuous sneer crept on his face as his eyes took in the form of one of his hated enemies. The simmering fury within him potent enough to have annihilated the executioner right where he stood. It was only the need to extract some much need answers and the understanding that Macnair was not _just_ his prey that stood his hand.

There were much bigger fish to bag if he could make the butcher talk. _He _was the one he wanted.

The one who had taught Macnair his ways. One who had the blood of countless innocents on his hands. The murderous scum who took sick pleasure into turning young children into beasts. The true monster.

Fenrir Greyback.

Macnair might be the _enticement_ that he was offering the head of DMLE for her allied hand, but Greyback was the true prize.

And he was looking at the only person who knew how he could find the truculent wolf.

Remembering what he had planned for the butcher, his sneer turned into a savage smirk. "I may not have your handiwork on my body anymore, but I am sure, the deliverance of my grievances would be most _enlightening_."

-x-x-x-x-x-

There was one truth that the war had hammered into him with painful experience ever since he had donned on the mantle of a leader of a militia resistance group.

Everyone talked.

During the times when he had seen or conducted the interrogations, there were instances when getting inside the person's head was not an available course of action. Be it an oath or any other binding constructs that hid a particular knowledge deep inside them. So deep, in fact, that even the most proficient legilimencer couldn't reach it without losing himself within the subconscious of the target.

But there was one thing that could always be counted upon to loosen one's tight lips.

It didn't matter how strong their mettle was. It didn't matter how high was their pain threshold. There was _always_ that something which could make them squeal their secrets when squeezed at that _right_ _spot_.

Macnair was nothing different.

The butcher who loved to hunt his prey down in his private woods and carve them for pleasure couldn't seem to handle being carved himself. All it had taken were three severed toes and two desecrated fingers before the man had understood there was no help coming to get him out of his predicament, not that death eaters ever had been in a habit of _rescuing_ one of their own.

Fenrir Greyback, the mauling death, the only werewolf to completely embrace the inner wolf and revel in the _hunt_, was known to run with his pack in Rivington Woods among his wizard companions, which included Macnair and some little runt named Scabior. But given the nature of the night in question, Macnair wasn't positive that this would be where Harry could find the feral lycan.

Harry had _checked. _Most thoroughly. Macnair wasn't lying. Either it was that or the executioner had remarkable mental fortitude even after being submerged in tar for some time. He didn't think the latter was the case.

So here he was, hiding at the edge of Rivington Woods, waiting for the elusive werewolf to come out for his, apparently, usual run. He could have waited and would have been better prepared for it. But the chance to capture the beast and offer him to the Bones Regent was an opportunity too good to miss. And the Lunar Eclipse was sort of a double-edged sword for his target. He remembered Greyback kept a wand. But what he wasn't sure of was if the werewolf was capable enough of using it during the eclipse as well, when the magical essence of the wolf clashed with that of a wizard. He couldn't let the chance slip by him.

Even then, he had wondered, long into the sleepless nights whether the plans he had made and implemented were the right thing to do. Had second-guessed himself at every turn when _major_ decisions were to be made. It didn't come naturally as it had in his previous life. Life in the war had been simple and straightforward. Kill or be killed. It was the basic rule he had learnt after losing so many at the hands of those who never questioned themselves before ripping the life of their victims.

But here…here life was different. People had forgotten the pain and sorrow of suffering that came with the winds of war. The first wizarding war, foolishly named as such considering the hundreds of war that had been fought among the British wizards, was nothing compared to what came next. The resurrection of Voldemort had started out with the same ferocity of the past but had gained savage intensity by the end. Or what had been the end. At least for him. Everything burned. Every single familiar soul, gone. Leaving behind charred remains of his hopes and dreams. And humanity.

Present, though, was different. It was a change that he hadn't truly expected to ever see again. Not even when he was planning so elaborately to dismantle the dark forces that had led for his world into ruins. There had always been that one cold voice whispering in his ears of the endless void that would take hold of him and won't let go. And then, the somewhat unexpected expectation had happened. He was back. Back among the living, that to him hadn't been alive for so very long. Back among those who loved him dearly and didn't even remember him. Back to a world that still held onto the last threads of its innocence. A world he had to _fix_ before it became the same desolate battleground that it had been whence he had left.

And thus, his hesitation to change some things without understanding how far the ripple would flow out into the river.

Capturing Greyback was most definitely a hard decision to make. While he knew and had heard many stories in the war camp about the inhumanity of the vicious werewolf, had heard parents grieve together whispering about how their children had been turned at the hands of the monster as young as three, he also knew that there were three werewolf packs in the isles that answered to Greyback.

If he caught the vermin and Amelia decided not to _play_ _ball_ and arrested him, the packs would know about it in less than a fortnight. What happened then was not something he could even begin to guess. And it was this unknown that gave him the pause.

And when the decision had become more than a little hard to consider, a whispered voice of his strangely wise blonde friend had brought clarity back into his eyes.

"_There will always be those who seek to harm, Harry. There will always be those who like the throes of violence instead of the calmness of peace. All we can do is save lives. One at a time. Eradicating evil, when it saved innocents, it is not only our duty, it is our calling."_

And just like that, everything had settled within him. If it meant saving some poor souls from being harmed by the monster and get some amount of justice for those already perished, he would do what he must.

He'd deal with the fallout with the packs later if it came to that,

A thrum beneath his feet brought him back from his musings. The sounds of barked laughter and howls filled the night air and he rechecked his concealing wards.

They were here. A party of four. One most vicious among them but all made from the same mould. Ravagers, the lot of them.

He knew he had to be extremely careful. One werewolf was much to handle and when there were four, it was bound to be a hassle. Their sense of smell and the animalistic sixth sense was greater than other hunters of the dark. The inner wolf kept them safe from the mental intrusions and their hide was moderately magical resistant. All things that made it very difficult to hunt the beasts.

And what he hadn't thought of before, but had become aware of quite recently was that his limitations had only increased after merging with his six-year-old self. His small stature and poor physical strength would only be detrimental in this case. He could not, even with his older body, go pound to pound with the hulking mass of muscle and bone that the Lycans were.

But despite some weaknesses, there was something that he had gained as well. Insight. Appreciation for the small things which, when added together, held the key to surmounting any difficulty that he came across. So when he had asked himself how could he eliminate a small pack of werewolves and capture one among them? The answer came easily enough.

He felt them coming before he heard the rustling of the leaves as their heavy feet landed on the dirt-laden path of the woods. The hair on his arms stood on end and he stopped breathing to not give away his presence despite the sound muffling enchantments of the ward beneath.

The rustling grew sharper and the sound of running feet drew nearer by the second. A pause of three heartbeats and they were upon his spot, unaware of his presence.

A gentle flick of his wand and a desperate howl burst forth from deep within the woods startling the four weres into a sudden stop just ahead of where he was hiding in a make-shift hole.

Before they could contemplate the nature of the sound, he struck.

'_**Lanceae Argentum.' **_Jagged, sharp silver lances burst forth from his wand and shot straight at the standing quartet.

The first to the left, youngest of the four, went down as the silvery death pierced his skull with the speed of a bullet, his face stuck in a confused frown as the light in his eyes faded away.

The other three reacted with the experience and superior skills that come to their kind with age. Greyback leaned to his left and the jagged-edged lance shot passed him, missing him by a hairsbreadth. He felt more than heard his two packmates crying out from either of his sides and before he could turn around and look at his attacker, ivy vines, thick and heavy burst forth from the growth beneath him and grabbed at his feet and hands, keeping him from moving. He struggled and managed to claw the vines attempting to ensnare his legs but with one came many and he was being dragged towards the tree behind with such ferocity that even his strength failed against the onslaught.

The two Lycans who had been standing with their leader gave growled shouts of fury as the silver lances carved more than a little piece of flesh from their sides. The silver embedded within burned their insides. But they held on with the perseverance that spoke of familiarity with the pain and held firm.

An instant before they felt it, they saw thick toothy vines grab Greyback and drag him ahead. An instant too long. Just as they were about to advance to help their leader, a shouted voice took gave all their worries a chaotic end.

Harry, seeing that his trap had been sprung, jerked his wand in an all too familiar pattern before he shouted with all his might.

"**Bombarda Maxima!"**

The effect was instantaneous. The ground below the two werewolves exploded with the force of an erupting volcano. Stone, dirt and rock spilt forth from the earth and the two souls were launched into the air with the front of their bodies taking the brunt of the attack.

Harry knew, from past experiences that there were very few things that could kill a werewolf. The one promising thing, the bane of every werewolf, silver, was difficult to conjure. And to conjure it while in a battle against a werewolf was not advised by many who had faced the savages. There was a reason that he hadn't flung a barrage of conjured silver arrows upon the beasts. And when he saw the two, moaning and cursing, clutching at their bleeding wounds and still trying to get up, he knew, he had to end it the way he used to.

It had only been a couple of seconds, definitely less than a minute since the struggle had begun and he could see the flailing form of Greyback trying to claw out of his way from under the weight of the ivy. There was no time. He had to take care of these goons before their leader broke free. It took him all but a couple of seconds to take it all in and with the finality in his voice, he intoned their end.

"**Ignis Flagello."**

A lasso of fire erupted from his wand, hot and fiery in its radiance and in a crisp motion as if conducting a bloody symphony, he cleaved the two heads from their shoulders. The stench of burnt flesh heavy in the air.

Now, to deal with the brute leading them.

It took twenty-three steps of his little feet to reach the area of the woods where his warded trap had dragged Grayback to. The earth beneath his feet was gouged as the repetitive motion of a struggling werewolf had begun the formation of a small trench. It was cathartic to see. A cold-blooded murderer struggling to live. Trying and failing to keep the vines from crushing his throat tighter and tighter, little by little.

It had taken him a full hour to power the runes on the trees and it's root to be able to handle the onslaught that a werewolf's claws could reign. A simple animation charm had taken care of the rest.

Greyback was not going anywhere. At least not before he was done preparing him for the meet and greet.

Carefully hiding in the plentiful shadows of the woods, he released all but two large vines from his spell. Leaving a huffing and panting Greyback with his hands being grasped by the rooted tree.

"Fenrir Greyback," he whispered. "The feral wolf of Leighpas. Isn't that what they call you?"

"WHO ARE YOU? SHOW YOURSELF!" Greyback shouted frothing at the mouth, his eyes looking for any movement in the trees.

"I am what you and your compatriots made me, Mr Greyback. I am your inevitability. Or if you'd allow me to be a bit more ominous, I am...your end," he replied.

A cold gravelly laugh echoed in the clearing as the wolf howled condescendingly. "Many have tried before. Most, better than you. I am still here, they are not. What does this tell yah?"

"That they didn't have the sense to put you down when they had the chance. Something, I believe, I am not foolish enough to repeat..."He paused. "At least, not without insurance." A wave of his black wand and a third root burst from the ground and wrapped itself in a noose around Greyback's throat.

"Ack...ugh...ugkk...**I will**...agh...**hunt you down for this**," the beast snarled even as the chokehold turned his vision black.

"Possible. But unlikely. And it's not me you have to worry about, Mr Greyback. You have been promised to another, I'm afraid," he replied. When he saw that the wolf had stopped struggling, he went around and grabbed his hair, wrenching them back in a way that left his mouth open. He saw the yellowish fangs bared even in a state such as his. He brought forth a vial from his pocket he had Sirius brew before his trip to Kiwi-lands and poured the contents down the wolf's throat.

There were very few sleeping draughts that used the essence of silver. Silver essence was known to have a calming effect on most, but some potioneers avoided using it because of the potent reaction it usually had with the base ingredients. Fortunately, Sirius was a fair hand at brewing potions, while he was no master, far from it, some skill had still followed even after his stint in the wizarding prison.

The poisonous effect of the metal would keep Greyback from getting lucid. No matter his control over the inner wolf, at the end of the day, he was, simply a werewolf.

"I wonder what you will choose, Amelia. Revenge or Justice?"

And with a small _crack,_ he disapparated, leaving behind a question in the air and three dead werewolves in his wake.

-x-x-x-x-x-

**~ Review ** **please ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _


	11. Of Choices and Prophets part-1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _
> 
> _ _2\. This will be a short chapter because I haven't had time to proofread every paragraph that was supposed to be in this chapter. Hopefully, I will be able to carve out some more time, but as of now, I don't think I can even if I try to limit my other activities few as they are. The project that had tied me still prevails in taking the biggest crunch out of my time and then there's the other story that I just had to do, the idea just kept coming to me._ _
> 
> _ _2\. This chapter contains graphic descriptions of assault (sexual and otherwise) in a clinical manner. Those who are squeamish with that sort of thing, be warned._ _
> 
> _ _That is all. Enjoy the last chapter for the year & **_Happy New Year Everyone!_**_ _

-x-x-x-x-x-

Shocked. Horrified. Outraged. Disgusted. She cycled between these emotions throughout the impromptu debriefing that her unexpected guest had taken upon himself to give her. And even then, these _words_ couldn't quite capture the revulsion she felt as she heard Sirius methodically dismantle the cock n' bull story that the minister's office had weaved with whatever proof he had gathered already. Despite her inner turmoil, she was not completely unaware of his peaked intrigue and interest in Hogwarts' vaunted Headmaster ever since she had let slip that he was the one who had derailed her questioning and given her the political equivalent of 'shut it or lose it' spiel and or threat when she had attempted to continue her efforts but had ignored it for the time being.

The thing that had simultaneously raised her hatred and made her want to drown in her sorrow was that her suspicions about Robards' subterfuge seemed to have been on the mark if she were to believe the wizard in front of her, and she _was_ getting increasingly convinced that he was telling the truth. To even imagine that she had let herself believe that the monsters who were responsible for the gruesome death of her brother had been given their just dues without even demanding any sort of proof had been a harsh truth to realise. One that had forced her to look at her recent actions with much the same revulsion aimed at herself as she was feeling after hearing the actions of the _esteemed_ Minister. It was clear to her now that her complacency regarding her office and her stance, in general, had done nothing but increased her grief over the years.

She shook herself mentally to let go of the tangential thoughts of self-loathing and focused once more on the words that were spilling from Sirius' mouth giving her the much-needed information she had been unable to get by her usual channels. "...that's about all we have figured out yet. There is more, oh so much more, we know," he shook his head, "but what it is and the scope of what they are hoping to achieve with all this is still unclear to us." Sirius sighed resignedly.

Even with the emotional turmoil, she was going through, Amelia did not miss the connotations which spoke of the involvement of others in this little coup. She didn't even attempt to gather her running emotions having already breached the point of no return having bawled her eyes out in front of him. "Who are you working with Sirius?" she asked looking at him with her piercing gaze, wondering if she was pulling away from one ditch and falling into another. She did not know who the others were, but if they had the reach to, the inner workings of the minister's office then there was no telling how dangerous this little coalition could get.

Sirius looked at her gravely. His expression hadn't changed ever since he had begun his little debriefing session. An expression, she decided, she preferred over the ever dopey looking smirk he adorned usually. "I cannot tell you their names, Amelia." He motioned with his hands to stop her from interrupting. "Whether or not I trust my spells to hold is not the matter here. I have come to realise that the risks others have taken to protect their identities are extreme. You know as well as I do that the moment they are known, their lives, lives of their families _will _be threatened by the very people who were tasked with their protection. Hell, even I do not know anyone else in this soiree apart from the one person who saved me from a nasty end when they brought me out of Azkaban. So, no I cannot tell you who they are Amelia even if I wanted to."

She openly scowled at him letting him know of her displeasure at the thought of going somewhere with him without knowing who she would be meeting especially now when he had just explained to her how thoroughly she had been fooled by the very people she had been working with, no matter how _thin_ that connection may have been. "You expect me to go with you, to what? Meet your benefactors? Then what? I may have been fooled once, Sirius, but I will _not_ repeat that mistake again. I..." she stopped in the middle of her rant as Sirius stiffened a little and then relaxed, a lopsided smirk crept upon his face almost on its own.

"You were saying, Amelia?" he prompted.

"What was that?" she asked mildly alarmed that something had changed in body language that had caused some tension to leave his body.

Sirius showed a smile that was all teeth. "That...was a confirmation of your present, Madam Bones. But by all means, let's continue those most illuminating threats, I was honestly enjoying being able to inspire such paranoia in someone. I've never been able to do that before."

Amelia growled deep in her throat and glared at him half-heartedly. "And I can't bring a detail with me?" she asked hoping he would have changed his mind after hearing her side of things.

Sirius' eyes hardened back again. "Not if you wish to see them knocked out, their memories modified and sent back home packed with a nasty headache and most disturbing memories to go along with that." He shook his head a little. "My... benefactor, as you called him, he's not the most trusting sort you see... actually on second thought, I imagine you two would get along rather splendidly," he finished with a small twitch of his lips giving away his amusement.

She stayed silent as she eyed him speculatively for more than a few minutes and contemplated whether she should take a chance so soon after having been deceived by those she thought posed her no harm. It really was a no brainer at the moment. She didn't know anything apart from the fact that the minister had befuddled the masses with his latest stunt. What she needed now was information. Information that only Sirius could give her, well... him or his apparently paranoid benefactor. After a while, she sighed and decided to give the man some benefit of the doubt seeing as he had been the one to open her eyes to the truth. "Alright. I'll come with. But just a sign, just a one that you are deceiving me and you wouldn't have to worry about wooing your latest conquests anymore," she threatened with steel in her eyes.

Sirius was all smile at that. "Oh don't you worry about my conquests, dear lady. I think after you see what or rather _who_ we have _collected_, you'd most likely change your tune."

She sighed, pushing down the uneasy feeling that she was suddenly feeling as she thought about what she would see when she got there. _'I suppose dinner plans with little Sussan would have to wait.'_

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was time. Everything was prepared for the final ritual. The others had been informed of the resurgence that would soon bring back their one chance at dealing with the nuisance that had dared to disrupt their mistress' weave. Great mother herself had given her blessings just last night when she had graced her dreams with her presence. It was time to let the heathen know that when you went against the great laid plans of their mother, you deserved nothing but the cruellest end you could imagine. And she had, painstakingly, made certain that the bastard would drown in his own blood by the hands of one he had come back to protect.

It had been difficult in the extreme to gain access to where the _vessel_ spent most of her time. The mundanes were surprisingly difficult to befuddle even with the _gifts _great mother had blessed her with. She had had to resort to some other, more intrusive, methods to make sure that she was placed at a position where she could mould the vessel to what the great mother had decreed.

It had taken weeks, just to get the vessel to trust her. Apparently, her life hadn't been as good as it should have been for someone like her and thus the vessel had been cautious and had questioned her every step of the way even for her age. But it all had been worth it. She had been able to _mark _the vessel with great mother's insignia which would bind the vessel to her mistress' will. She had felt the connection snap into place the moment she had carved the last contour from the knife on the vessel's skin. It was only a matter of time now. Tonight in fact. Tonight, it would all turn back to the way it was supposed to be. It was risky, yes, but it was also the most gainful plot that she could devise given the warning from great mother that she would not be able to help her or the others apart from _filling the vessel with its previous strength _and even that was skirting very close to the edges of what she was allowed to do on mortal plain by intervening directly. And then there was the time constraint. The more time passed, the more things would deviate to favour the heathen. It could not be allowed to happen.

Yes, she was ready. The heathen would rue the day he had challenged the great mother's might. Tonight…it would all come to head.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The first rays of the sun were just coming up on the horizon when he had reached to cottage safe-house with a thoroughly drugged and chained werewolf in tow. The sleeping potion with silver essence had done exactly what he had hoped it would and had kept Greyback as heavily sedated as a werewolf could be. That and the receding eclipse had made sure that when he offered the savage to Amelia, he would not be able to lift a finger much less do anything else to show his displeasure at being chained like the animal he was.

Presently he was sipping his first cup of tea of the morning as he contemplated on other plans that he had in motion. The suddenness of everything had taken its toll on every little thing he had planned. The shenanigans of the meddler, Sirius' rescue and now this. He was not exactly happy with how quickly he had had to move to capture Greyback to enlist Amelia to his cause when the three packs that answered to him in the isles could wreak havoc in his absence. While he was certain that not every weré in the packs would be as bloodthirsty as Greyback, he knew of many who were and had the inclination to follow into their leader's examples.

The consequences of removing 'the feral wolf of Leighpas' could be catastrophic to the already shaky werewolf-wizard relationship. The bigoted idiots in Wizengamot were already vying for a single chance to propel their anti-werewolf propaganda in the house. And if a single incident was registered that spoke of werewolf involvement, well…the only result would be the complete eradication of werewolves from the isles and a blood bath on the scale that hadn't been seen since the end of the First Wizarding War with Voldemort.

Harry shook those thoughts from his head and put his cup back on the table to take a moment to grasp at the wards of the cottage, checking his handy work. The wards he had designed had griped the stone quite firmly for how short while ago he had carved them. They responded to his askance and flared for a moment before settling down. If there was one thing he was sure of at this moment, it was this place. It truly was a safe house in every sense of the word. The wards he had put in place were brilliant in their complexity as well as being as tightly bound to his will as they could be. Just short of a Fidelius, it was the perfect spot for a command centre.

The world outside had forgotten House Kent for many decades. It had worked well for him these past weeks. Even though it had been a decision he had made simply because of its necessity, it had already paid dividends. It had provided him with a place that was well within the Ministry's _trace_ _net,_ but with no one having any indication nor the idea to search for him here (even if the searching parties were few and those who knew it was him were none still) it was a moot point. The cottage house had also given him a temporary stage for some of his _seedier_ operations. He doubted that he could have found a place to interrogate Manair and Greyback much less one to keep them If he didn't have access to Kent's Cottage and the wards he had installed in it.

'_I doubt Greyback would have lost touch with the death munchers after the fall of their master. It is likely that he had more than one way to stay in contact with them in case he got into trouble that he couldn't handle alone. And I can't force Amelia to see things my way if she doesn't already. Though I doubt it, but if she decided to put her faith in the 'Mot one more time just because of a nonsensical thing such as morality for a murderer, I'd have no recourse but to erase her memories. Especially the things she might have discovered on her own after she had her little talk with Sirius._

'_While Sirius isn't all that bad at dissembling, she isn't the Director of DMLE for shits and giggles. She was a sharp enough witch to get the job and no matter her complacency, she'd been able to stick to it without much trouble coming her way. And as it is I'm not sure I'd be able to do a good enough job considering I do not wish her any harm. Despite my proficiency with the mind arts, the branch is more of an art form than a discipline. Her psyche would undoubtedly be strong enough to make her realise the changes I would have to do within.' _Harry groused.

He shook his head ridding himself of the what-ifs. He would have to play it by the ear in this case. He already had done everything he could to get her to side with him. Everything else would just depend on her. As it was, his _guests _were sleeping off their beatdown downstairs having no idea as to how soon their judgement would be upon them.

Harry stiffened slightly as the fake galleon in his pocket vibrated and grew hot all of a sudden. It was the signal he and Sirius had decided for when he was ready to bring Amelia with him back to the cottage._'Well…moment of truth I suppose.' _He stood up from his seat on the couch and strode towards the basement.

He had some preparations to make before Sirius brought his guest to their little soiree.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Amelia saw Sirius bring out a galleon from his pocket and tap it with his wand as she collected her robes from her chair. If she hadn't been in her current line of work, she would have disregarded the action as trivial considering people did use many such methods to keep track of the gold in their pocket, but as it was, she quirked an eyebrow at him in a way that posed her query quite clearly.

Sirius simply chuckled at her expression. "Nothing really. Just letting our host know that we are on our way. I hadn't realised that it would take us the whole night to discuss things at length but I suppose its better this way. He would have had plenty of time to arrange things to _your _liking."

Amelia merely grunted in response ignoring the similarity of the action with that of her Auror's badges. She was getting really annoyed with his subtle wordplay whenever the topic of her supposed _present_ came up. She just knew it would bring nothing but more trouble to her already troubled life.

Sirius cast a disillusionment charm on himself and it was early in the morning when he and Amelia left the ministry from the lesser-used _'Feletone Booth' _entrance. Once outside, Sirius grabbed hold of her arm and when he saw her nod at where she thought he was, activated the portkey Harold had given him with a whispered, _'Portus Clavis.'_

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry saw them arrive in the usual swirl of the incoming portkey as they walked few feet above the air to settle their momentum from the ride. Though he had seen her before this, he was still a little impressed with the way she held herself as she landed on her feet. Her wand was in her hand in a second and holding it by her side, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. Her rigid stance and steely eyes were clear for him to see even if _she_ couldn't see _him_.

He had mapped their portkey to the small space just outside the basement that he had enlarged just recently. He had also employed the same method of concealment on himself when he had brought Stubby Boardman for _questioning. _While he was sure he would have to meet her in the near future, he had no doubt in his mind that if he showed up in front of her looking like a six-year-old and wielding magic with ease, she would have questions that he would have to answer considering it was him who needed her aid in his plans.

And it was this reason that he was hiding within the shadows of inky black smoke in one corner which he had already warded with the runic equivalent of a disillusionment charm with a light bending spell on himself that worked similar to the disillusionment charm. It sufficed to say, he was not taking any chances. He knew she was capable enough to disrupt the magic of the temporary ward and was quick enough with her wand to do said disruption.

And now, if she did do such a thing, he would have enough time to make his escape within the smoke without letting her confirm his presence. He could have used the wards to ensure her _obedience, _but that would just piss her off and would make this get together a little bit hostile in nature. A situation that would do nothing but make her unreceptive to what he wished for her to know. He needed her as receptive as he could make her and if she did see him before he had given her sufficient proof of his own capabilities that would never happen.

Despite it all, he knew, things for him were never as simple as that. His plans had a tendency to go awry. It was almost a certainty after all these years. And after having dealt with the consequences of all the bad calls and schemes blowing up in his face he had developed a sort of sixth sense for these kinds of things. And thus, always prepared accordingly. Come hell or high water, he would convince her to see his way.

Amelia eyed the place uneasily as she looked around for any sign of trouble. Just because she had placed her trust, no matter however little, in Sirius, did not mean that she would follow his lead blindly into a place she hadn't ever been before. "A little less showy for your tastes, Sirius, isn't it?" she asked fishing for some information regarding his connection to the place.

Sirius chuckled. "I assure you, Amelia, I have nothing to do with the decorations," he said eyeing the bare floor and ceiling with mock contempt. "But I am told it would do for what we have planned for today."

"And that would be?" she asked pointedly.

Harry decided to introduce himself before Sirius got _bored_ with the postering and decided to revert to his usual jesting self. With a quick spell to disguise his voice, he replied, "Something that should have been done years ago, Madam Bones."

Amelia, startled at the sound of a disembodied voice, looked around suddenly and raised her wand to defend herself.

"That would not be necessary, Madam Bones. I assure you, you have not been brought here as a prisoner. In fact, you can leave anytime you wish. I have disabled the anti-portkey and apparition wards for your peace of mind. As you can tell, I'm sure," he added placatingly.

Amelia had, in fact, noticed the absence of the telltale signs of a small pressure on her core that spoke of the anti-apparition wards but the suddenness of another presence without her notice had startled her somewhat. She chided herself internally for losing her calm and took a breath to gather her bearings and lowered her wand. "And I suppose you would be the one I have to thank for the dispensation of information about our Minister's recent machinations."

Harry scoffed at that. "Hardly, Madam Bones. I simply gave you enough bread crumbs to follow. I am sure you would have gotten to the bottom of it yourself…eventually. What you should be thanking me for is saving you the trouble of getting your hands dirty while following the trail, as it were. And I am sure you can understand, our Minister had gotten sanguine enough to have you _silenced_ if he thought you were getting too close to the truth."

She frowned. While it did seem that Fudge _was_ getting bolder, she doubted that he had the guts to do what Sirius' mysterious benefactor was suggesting. Instead of contradicting him at the point though, she changed the topic altogether. "And the purpose of this clandestine visit was to what? Make certain that I knew your role in this? Have a chit you could call upon when you got into trouble?"

"I doubt I could call a _'chit' _for the kind of troubles I do get into, Madam Bones. However, you are correct I did want to let you know of my involvement in the matter. Though not for the reasons you thought." he replied.

"Oh?" she raised her brows. "And I suppose it's these reasons that have you hiding your presence from me?" she asked.

He paused for quite a few seconds before replying, "Partly. You see, I have a healthy respect for your capabilities and given such I know when to keep my cards close to the vest." When he saw her about to form another question, he decided to derail her attempts at fishing for information regarding his identity by giving her something else to target. "In any case, I believe it's time we got to the reason for your visit." He waved his wand and the door to the basement proper swung away with nary a sound. "But before you go in there, I think there are some things, old and new, that you should be made aware of."

Amelia arched her brows and tensed a little looking at Sirius. He too had coiled himself a little as he stared at her grimly having possibly decerned what the disembodied voice was talking about.

Harry brought out a parchment from his pocket and continued as if he hadn't noticed the change in her. _"…the body of the victim, age 28, a witch, found in advance stages of desecration (possibly with a dark curse) with distension of the whole body, protrusion of tongue, softening of the right eyeball, post mortem peeling of cuticles, marbling, Purging. The body was soiled with blood and semen. Scalp hairs were easily pluckable and the face was marred with cuts ranging from 5 to 15mm in depth. All examinations point to a sexual assault before she was killed with what the arithmancers have analysed to be the Killing Curse. The victim was identified as Sylvia Bones, Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bones."_

Amelia resolutely glared at the spot she could hear his voice coming from as her knuckles turning white as she gripped her slightly singing and sparkling wand in hand. It would have taken a moment, just one to tear apart the ward that was hiding the voice which had dared to pick at her old wounds which such callousness, but she had weighed her options despite her overwhelming fury telling her to eradicate the holder of voice with extreme prejudice.

Sirius, on the other hand, scowled at where he knew Harold to be hiding. He had never agreed with him on this part of the plan. To him, it had seemed cruel and almost unnecessary for what they were here to do. Harold had, of course, disagreed which was clear by his almost clinal tone as he narrated the findings of the healers that had examined the remains of the deceased Lord Bones and his family.

"…_the victim, male, age 30, a wizard, found with extreme blunt force trauma ranging from head to almost every other extremity. The head is found to have right periorbital contusion and subjunctive haemorrhage along with contusions on the right of the face and nose. Parietal subgaleal and temporalis muscle contusions, The torso is found to be intact with six broken ribs causing torn muscles and lungs. There are anterior and posterior chest wall and sternum contusions. Left and Right arms have been burned to some degree with magical fire and removed from the torso with every finger having been broken and torn off by simple cutting curses. The legs have been amputated at the knee while the region above is found to have traces of a curse that is responsible for the slow degradation of nerve endings, possibly Cruciatus? The cause of death is found to have been the Killing Curse. The victim was identified as Edgar Bones, Lord of Noble and Most Ancient House of Bones." _Harry continued, taking care to look at where she was standing to avoid getting blindsided when she reached her limits. He had already sensed a subtle magical tendril that had attached to the only visible ward stone at his front.

It was cruel, he knew and he hated himself for having to do this to her in such a manner. But he needed her to remember what the monsters inside had done to her family. What they had wrought when they had assaulted her brother, his wife and their two children. These butchers did not deserve to have a trial in front of a bought and corrupt tribunal. They deserved the same pain that they had brought to their victims and their loved ones. They deserved to feel every single thing that their victims had felt when they had begged and pleaded for mercy. He wanted her to realise that the time for justice had long since passed. That it was time to avenge their fallen.

But even he knew that her patience would only go so far.

And the next words from his lips held the capacity to tear down that wall of patience to spill forth the righteous anger of a woman wronged.

Pushing aside his own guilt at having to do this and steeling his heart to crush his hesitation, he began. _"…the victims, age 8 and 9, a witch and a wizard respectively, found…" _he had to pause in between as the ward that was hiding him vanished in an instant as the _feeler_ she had sent earlier did its job and she _moved_ with the speed that surprised him for a moment. A wide cutter left her wand forcing him to dodge wildly to his left before he hastily uprighted himself. Before she could banish to black smoke he had conjured, he disapparated with an almost silent crack.

She heard the words that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember. She hadn't been present when her brother had been killed and only had the reports from various examiners to tell her what the beasts had done to her brother and his family. She had read those words day and night drowning herself in her sorrow and searching every waking minute for the bastards who were capable of such abominable actions before she had given up.

Hearing the same words again had alit a fury within her that she hadn't felt for quite some time. Every fibre of her being was screaming at her to tear apart the savages who had hurt her dear brother with such viciousness. But the only one she could bring that fury upon at the moment was the man who had had the audacity to reopen her still green wounds.

And so she had struck. She triggered the tendril she had sent to break the ward with a basic ward breaking spell and sent a powerful cutter to a breadth wider than usual. Her fury escalated when she heard no sounds of impact with her target as the black smoke spilt forth from the warded area, disrupting her vision.

Just as she banished the inky black smoke with a snarl, she heard it. The slight crack. The bastard had apparated out before she could tear him limb from limb. Remembering that she had come here with his acquaintance, she turned around to see Sirius hold out his wand upwards in a surrender looking at her with a sympathetic and pleading expression.

Amelia had an emotional control of an experienced fighter. She could control herself in the heat of battle and well afterwards. But everyone had a breaking point. She had one too. Her family. At this moment when she had been painfully reminded of the viciousness of the attack that had taken her brother, her niece and nephew from her, she was not in a forgiving mood.

She aimed her wand at Sirius as just as she was about to intone her strongest bludgeoner, she felt a tremendous force pushing her down into the black granite floor as the oppressive might of the wards fell on her. She snarled and flared her magic to rid herself of the impact and felt the force increase tenfold in response. She saw Sirius move in front of her to help her get up but seize up suddenly before he could.

Before she could wonder whether it all had been an elaborate ploy to fool both her and Sirius, she heard another soft crack as the man apparated back into the room. But instead of anger or gloating words which she was honestly expecting from him, she thought she heard a tinge of sadness mixed with the resoluteness that she often heard in her own voice as he spoke his whispered words.

"Your first mistake, Madam Bones, was to let your curiosity get ahead of your considerably good judgement. I told you that I had disabled the wards for you. It did not mean I could not turn them back on if I so wished or that I was bound by such limitations same as you." He said as he stepped towards her, clouded in a similar cloud of black smoke that she had banished just a while ago.

"It tells me that you have become rusty and complacent. I have had discussions with Sirius at length with what I think happened to you. We both have different views on the matter. They really don't matter now but they did help me realise how to deal with you."

She spat at his feet as he got near enough for her to feel the smoke touch her skin even if she couldn't actually move herself to see him as the wards continued to push her down. She grunted and forced herself to look at the side he was standing. "And now what? ...You'll finish what your fiendish friends couldn't all these years? …slay me as your master intended? …You best be quick about it then, 'cuz I assure you if I figure out a way out of this before you have killed me…you will not be alive to warn your death eater friends that I am coming for them," she huffed, panting with the effort she had to spent for even speaking to the man.

Instead of gloating or leering at her like she thought he would do seeing her degraded down like she was, she heard him do something completely strange. It started with a chuckle, a sound that confused her as much as it filled her with a little dread. Moments later he was laughing deep bellied laughs that she couldn't quite understand the reason for. As far as she had interpreted him from her conversation with Sirius and with what little face to face they had just now, he didn't seem like someone who had gone off the deep end.

As sudden as this change had been, his next action brought forth the dread that had started creeping up in her nerves after being captured in a way that she was. A smokey black tendril came forward with an agility of a cat and plucked her wand from her surprised hands and she saw her one chance at getting away from the seemingly manic wizard disappearing within the velvety darkness.

The tremendous force that was keeping her down suddenly lifted itself, confusing her again when it suddenly returned with a vengeance pushing her completely down on the floor even as she saw Sirius struggling with his binds, trying and failing to help her get away from what she thought was her last stand. The dark obscuring smoke came near her with slow deliberate movement and as it enveloped her head within, she felt the warm breath of someone just above her ear whispering with what she would later realise to be a cold, controlled and a leashed fury that spoke of a pain she hadn't thought she could feel in a voice.

"You think I am of them? That I am one of those vile _creatures _who spill blood in the name of a farcical cause and a master who murdered his own kin?" His whispers grew harsher by every word that he spat in her ears. "You think I am capable of the carnage they had wrought as they burned the world and butchered every single person I cared about? That I could even compare with the savages and the heinous crimes they committed while serving their half-blood master who would rather see them grovelling at his feet and pilfering their legacy for his maniacal fetishes?" he hissed in her ears.

A second passed as she looked at the smoke with wide eyes and not a little fear feeling the oppressiveness of his magic fighting her own in a clash that happened when two magicals were flared their magic in as close proximity as they were. Though she was not aware of her observations at the moment, she would soon realise that this moment told her more about the man than any conversation ever could.

His magic was, surprisingly, not as dark oriented as she thought it would be. It gave a sensation of being tightly controlled, flowing beatifically like a raging river. The power behind his magic, while nothing to scoff at, was well within the parameters of what she had felt before. Any witch or wizard who had spent fighting the dark wizards as she had, had the capability to sense the aura of another magical when in a clash of wills as she was right now. It was simply a skill that came with the experience rather than something that could be taught. It told her many things…things that she would later review when in the safety of her home. But right now, at this moment, she knew none of it, knew nothing more than the fact that the man was churning with a fury that he was controlling with a will that was stronger than steel.

Just when she thought she would lose and it would her end, he hissed. "You know nothing!" and the pressure that had her driven her to the ground eased off and she felt herself being levitated off the floor. Just as she felt her feet touch the ground, the feeling of the oppressive wards went away apart from the small pressure on her core which told her that the anti-apparition wards had been reasserted as the inky black smoke receded to the corner it had been when she first came in.

Knowing that she had no way of escaping even if she wanted to, she gathered what strength she could to hold herself upright and looked at the now unbound and unsilenced form of Sirius who was glaring daggers at the receding form of his acquaintance. Before she could bring herself to say anything, Sirius exploded. "That was unnecessary, Harold! You didn't have to do this! I told you picking at her wounds would get you nothing but contempt from her! I told you! And now this…this…"

"If it bothers you so much, you can leave, Sirius," Harry interrupted in a cold uncaring tone. "You know where the door is."

"And leave her with you?" Sirius spat. "To what end? So you could torture her with her past as you please. You told me it would give her closure. You said it is the only way to get her to understand…to…" He shook his head looking at where he knew Harold was standing. "I am disappointed in you, Harold. What you did, what you are doing brings you dangerously close to becoming one of those you are so hell-bent on hunting!"

Amelia saw the exchange with as much curiosity as she could muster after being tossed about like a doll. With what little she knew of him, Sirius wasn't this good of an actor that he could fool her and act being this upset. It was clear to her that he had been surprised by the actions of this _'Harold' _and had certainly not expected this turn of events.

Harry attempted to control his seething fury he had been feeling ever since Amelia had suggested his connection with those who had ravaged his world taking away everything he had ever held dear. It was difficult from him to hear such things from Amelia, but to hear Sirius say something similar had brought some feelings that he hadn't felt since so long ago. It took a while before he thought he could reply to either of them during which time he saw Amelia looking confusedly at Sirius as he avoided her gaze like a worried chihuahua.

The comparison did as much to bring him some much-needed calm as the reminder for the reason he had actually brought her here.

Amelia, looking at the worried expression on Sirius' face and having realised what Sirius had just let slip, asked something that was niggling the back of her head incessantly. "That I would understand what, Sirius? Closure from what?"

Sirius looked away not completely sure how to bring up the reason for her invitation after the debacle that the meeting had become.

Seeing his godfather fumble in his response, Harry answered instead. "Contrary to what Sirius and perhaps even you believe, I did not ask him to bring you here to reopen old wounds or to harm you as I inadvertently have done." The slightly softer tone and a sigh escaping his lips were the only signs of his regret at his behaviour. "There was a reason why I brought up those reports that seem to haunt you so much."

When he saw her stiffen again, he hurried to explain his reasons. "How many nights did you spent wide awake churning in the guilt that you could do nothing as those savages who butchered your family got away without being punished? How many days did you spend chasing shadows and the slightest hints of someone who could point you to those ravagers? I can promise you, Madam Bones, those days and nights cannot compare to how long I had wished to get my hands on those who took everything away from me." A sudden spike of her magic that clued him in that he had hit a nerve in her. "I am not saying this to demean your loss, Amelia. I can very well imagine the pain you must have gone through and probably still feel when you think of your brother. I too share your pain. And I am saying this because of that pain that even now, even today…I envy you."

Despite herself, despite her confusion at his statement, Amelia's eyes softened somewhat as she recognised the hurt that he couldn't quite hide in his tone. And she forced herself to listen to his explanation even after all that had happened between them just now. And it was fortunate that she did. Because the next words she heard changed everything for her.

"Edgar Bones, the previous Lord Bones was having dinner with his family at Bones Manor on the eve of Coll, when he felt the wards on the outer perimeter of the manor shatter with an exceptional force. Before he could relay the power back to the hearthstone, he felt the whole manor get waylayed by some external wards that had been erected just before the Manor's own wards had been broken into. To his astonishment, he found that he could neither apparate nor use any of his emergency portkeys that he had prepared for an occasion just as this.

"When he attempted to use the floo to get Lady Bones and their children away from what he now knew to be an attack on the manor, he found it blocked from access. Knowing that every precaution he had taken to assure himself of his and his family's safety had been compromised, he decided to do the only thing he could. He made his last stand.

"Hiding his wife and children in a room in the basement, he warded it with all his capability as the Master of the House, which with the wards down as they were, did not mean much when it came to those who would soon come knocking at his doors. Nevertheless, he prepared traps where he could and used the house-elves to make sure that nothing happened to his family even if he fell at the hands of the enemy.

"The force, however, was even larger than he had anticipated. His involvement with the Order of the phoenix, the vigilante group that worked as resistance, opposing the dark forces of Lord Voldemort, and his skills with the wand had been noticed by the enemy and they had come prepared. Even with twenty death eaters against him, Edger Bones slew two death eaters and held his own against the others for as long as he could before the overpowered him with sheer numbers. He was bound and beaten to an inch of his life, only kept alive to witness what happened to those who stood up against their _master._

"The ravagers, in their search for his family, at last, noticed the warded basement and after eviscerating the little creatures who had _dared_ to stand against them broke through, dragging Lady Bones and the children towards their fellows where they all _enjoyed_ the spoils of war in front of the dying Lord," he relayed to her what he had obtained from the memories of the two prisoners he had stowed just behind the open doors.

She stood there. Listening. Hearing the detailed accounts of the incident that had changed her life. Silent tears dripped down her chin as she heard, at last, what had happened to her loving brother and his family in their last moments. She seethed openly as he finished and was just short of frothing at the mouth when he derailed her again with what he said next.

"And there were two among the force who actually killed your brother, those who ripped his body limb from limb and those who _despoiled_ his family with their heinous actions in front of his eyes, those who did not even spare the children as they did the unthinkable. The ones **I**found so **you** could finally get what I couldn't and would never get to have."

He waved his wand and the chairs holding the unconscious forms of Macnair and Greyback became visible inside the room. Their arms were bereft of any cloth, the faded dark mark on their forearms clear for her to see.

"**Revenge."**

Amelia looked at his smokey form with her eyes wide open as every coherent thought left her being. She saw everything and yet nothing. She heard everything yet nothing. Every word he had spoken kept ringing in her ears as she realised what he had said.

Years that she had spent searching for them kept flashing before her eyes as did the years of frustration that she had buried deep down. And for once she felt her magic rise well above of what Harold had shown himself capable of.

"You will not live to see another day if this is a lie," she said as she turned to look at his form, her eyes carrying within them a raging inferno.

Harry simply waved his wand and levitated a small vial of _**clear**_ _**liquid**_ to her. "Find the _**truth**_ for yourself then, Amelia. I will be waiting here when you do. What you do with them afterwards, well…that would decide where we go from there," he replied forming a small black tendril that carried her wand back to her.

With nary a word, she grabbed her wand and the vial stepped inside the room, locking it with a sound resembling a thunderclap.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sirius watched Amelia grab her wand and the vial of what he knew to be Harold's last stock of Veritaserum as she strode towards the room which housed quite possibly Britain's two most prolific serial killers and sighed.

It was all coming to head. He hadn't really thought they'd be able to do it without resorting to the methods that Harold had suggested, but somehow, they had prevailed. He heaved another shaky breath and felt a breeze pass through the space near him. "You owe me ten galleons," he remarked knowing that Harold would hear him as he was standing right beside him.

Harry dispelled the disillusionment charm from himself and smirked at his godfather. "Well, you can certainly pull it off when you want to, Sirius. Gotta give you that. But I seem to remember that the bet involved her actually agreeing with us. She hadn't even decided yet," he replied.

Sirius rolled his eyes at that. "Oh please. You have given her what she had wanted for years on a silver platter with a nice pink bow attached at the top. There is no way she'd just arrest both of them when you went out of your way to remind her of what they had done to her brother. I still don't think it was a good idea though."

Harry sighed. "Yes. You made it clear enough when you were _performing your bit_ there. I told you, she needed a push. And I needed to be the one to give it to her. She doesn't know me, even tangentially. She knows you. She has seen you side with her. She will share with you more than she would have ever shared with me. It couldn't be avoided. For the time being, I need her to be as confused about her feelings for me as I can possibly make her. And when she does break the mould she had settled herself in, well…I am certain, it will be a sight to behold, Sirius."

"She already is, Harold. She already is." Sirius spoke with something other than his usual lecherous sentiment.

"…"

"What?" Sirius asked dubiously.

Harry looked at Sirius was an amused expression as he imagined what his godfather might be feeling when it came to the delectable Madam Bones. "Nothing. Let's go upstairs. I have a feeling she might take a while."

A howl filled with agony rang in the air before it abruptly ended. Sirius had turned to object leaving Amelia alone with their two prisoners before he heard the sound. "Yeah. Lets," he replied instead.

Harry merely nodded and led the way. The meeting could not have gone any better than that.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"…_afíste tin psychí na entachtheí s 'aftó to skáfos kathós i megáli mitéra dioikeí."  
(let the soul join the vessel as the great mother commands)_

"…_afíste to skáfos na kratísei tin apelefthérosi tis alithinís dikaiosýnis tis megális mitéras."  
(let the vessel hold the deliverance of great mother's true justice)_

"…_emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…"_  
"…emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…"  
"…emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…"

The chanting increased in tempo as six prophets standing inside the inner pentagram intoned the words of power spilling forth their life-blood into the carefully carved runes as the golden marks of _Ankh_ on their forearms glowed it golden hue ominously. The others who stood on the outer ridges, stood silently, watching with bated breath the rebirth of the vessel.

She looked at her chanting brothers and sisters, her blue eyes glittering with happiness as she held the sleeping form of the vessel in her arms. It had taken her hours to get the runes exactly as the great mother had shown her in her dreams and even more, to mark the vessel with her mistress' mark which had for some bizarre reason fought her until she had borrowed some of the power that great mother had blessed her with and dipped the carving knife in her own blood.

It was only a matter of seconds before the great mother opened the gates and poured the soul that would be their weapon against the heathen.

The chanting grew bolder and bolder in the background and she stood with the vessel in her arms. She knew instinctively that salvation was just a few moments away, that any moment now the heavenly doors would open bring forth the might of her mistress.

A piercing light burst forth from the ground as the pentagram carved into the floor flared bright golden. The six prophets standing above cried in pleasure as they felt, for the first time, the presence of the great mother in their midst. The euphoric feeling knew no bounds as their hearts soared new heights making them capable of achieving things they had thought to be unachievable. As suddenly as it had come, the feeling dissipated. A second passed and an instant later, all six prophets convulsed, their mouths open in a silent scream as the blood in their veins forcefully ejected into the runic array that had already tasted their essence, leaving their bodies a drying husk.

The bright golden glow dimmed to a shimmering silver and a white sphere of pure essence burst forth from within, hovering over the vessel even as it resisted the ritual in short jerky movements. The _Ankh _on the vessel's forearm surged awake and the resistance of the essence stopped abruptly as it descended into the centre of the vessel's chest.

For a moment everything stood still and she thought she had failed. The others looked on holding their breath as the vessel stopped all its movements. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest that showed her to be among the living ceased. Two heartbeats later when she was just about to give up hope, the vessel started thrashing and kicking her legs every which way. She called upon her brothers and sisters to hold down her legs while she attempted to stop the vessel's hands from flailing.

With an abruptness, the thrashing stopped and she cleared pushed back her golden locks to see the face of the vessel. Vessel's brown hair that she had braided for the ceremony were flowing around her face having burst from their confinement. Her face was glowing as the body merged the essence with the soul and the rebirth reached its conclusion.

She traced the mark on the vessel's forearm idly as she waited for the process to finish. The great mother had warned her of the possible delay. Even with her mark inhibiting the natural defences of the essence, it was still remarkably stronger than many others. Just as she was about to ask one of her sisters to bring forth the chalice they had used in the ritual, the vessel's eyes opened on their own and she jubilated.

The brown eyes looked around in a mechanical fashion until they connected with her blue ones.

"Welcome Theïkóplo. We, the prophets of the great mother welcome you to the world of the living once more. Do you know what it is our mistress wishes you to do?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Yes," the vessel replied in a small _conflicting_ voice.

Her small smile turned into a wide grin as she looked at the confused visage of the vessel. While the essence was strong, it could do nothing with her mistress' will inhibiting most of her thoughts. And when the brown eyes lifted to meet her own blues, she couldn't help but feel the satisfaction of a job well done.

'_Ironic Justice indeed, mistress.'_

-x-x-x-x-x-

**~ Review please ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _


	12. Of Choices and Prophets part-2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _
> 
> _ _2\. Please read the Author’s notes at the end of this chapter. I really need to explain somethings and I have been told writing big a** notes at the beginning isn’t cool._ _
> 
> _ _3\. Kudos to all you guys who figured out the vessel’s identity as Hermione. Admittingly, I should have been vaguer in my description of her. :P Now, after getting a lot of PMs and Reviews about her state and how it would be a ‘crappy thing to do’ as a reader put it, I have to reveal something that I had thought would have been better left as an element of suspense._ _
> 
> _ __ _
> 
> **~Spoiler Alert~**  
What is happening to/with Hermione will only last one or two chapters and that too because it was always supposed to be a segue into Harry and Hermione meeting each other, also possibly a few others. There is still a surprise left as far as Hermione is concerned (though that is a happy one, I believe) which I will keep to myself until this chapter or possibly the next one.  
I am a big Harmony fan and I would never if I could help it, keep them apart or play angsty tricks just to make it spicier.  
**~End Spoiler~**
> 
> That is all. Enjoy the chapter :)
> 
> -x-x-x-x-x-

Darkness. Black swathes of the unending abyss. Small pearls of lights, twinkling, shining upon her for brief moments before merging themselves in the same eerie darkness.

It was all she had known for a very long time.

All she could see, despite not having eyes or even a body to call her own. It all made sense to her though, in an abstract, wholly uncomprehending way that only a departed soul like her could understand.

There _were _moments, however, when her lack of physical senses was a boon. Moments when she could think clearly. Could see the small snippets of her life flowing through her mind like a gentle, loving breeze. 

She remembered her life. Remembered how it had always pendulated between extremities. How her unloving, monotonous past had given way to the breathtaking and wondrous world of possibilities.

Magic.

She remembered it like it was yesterday. The joy in her when she had finally understood who she was. A witch. An honest to god witch, who could cast charms, bubble potions and though she could technically ride a broom as well, she preferred not to.

She remembered how she had learnt the real meaning of friendship and love, something she had felt would forever be lost to her. And could recall every single adventure she had in that world…her world…with her friends. And she certainly remembered **_him._**

And then she remembered how it all had ended.

She could see now, quite clearly in fact, when life had given up on her. Could see how **_he_** had tried, given his everything to get to her before the final syllables of the curse left from her murderer’s lips. With an almost unnatural detachment, something that would have fascinated her had she been living still, she could even remember the flash of green in **_his_** eyes that shone bright, brighter than even the curse which took her life as he saw it sail towards her and hit her squarely in the chest.

And in those final moments, she remembered feeling the loss, the pain that threatened to tore her before death ever could. And feeling afraid…very afraid. Though, unsurprisingly, not for herself…but for her **_husband,_** who had already lost too much.

She heard his name in her waking dreams when she had uttered it in a breathy whisper as she saw him sprinting towards her in a desperate attempt to reach her before the inevitable happened just as the last breath escaped her lungs.

_‘Harry…’_

And then a brilliant flash of white and a sensation of warmth spread through her being that she couldn’t even describe despite her rather extensive vocabulary. No word would ever, _could _ever be sufficient that could entail all her feelings in their entirety as to what this place meant to her.

Had it been the afterlife?

Perhaps. But it had seemed so much _more. _

And here it was that she found some trouble. She could _feel_ there was something more here. That there was something that she had done, something she had **_lived. _**But try as she might, she could remember nothing of her time in that glorious warmth.

All she could recall was returning to the same murky pool of black nothingness that she had exited from when her life had been taken away from her and now **_this_**…

Her Prison.

She could not see her warden’s face, but she instinctively knew who it was. The venom in her voice when she had _welcomed_ her into her domain after wrenching her from the dome of pleasant warmth had been enough to jog her lethargic memories.

There was only one being who held this much animosity towards her husband on this plane.

**Atropos. **The third of the Fates.

Harry had told her of his dreams during the end. He had _shown _her the mad ravings of the divine entity that plagued him every night. How she had tortured him with horrible images of his loved ones. She remembered seeing her own body, torn and defiled, in his mind one night when he had opened it up to her. While it had disturbed her something fierce, it had also risen her respect for him more than a few notches.

He had carried them all on his back even when he was suffering from demons of his own. And she couldn’t possibly love him more than she did right at that very moment. He was her rock and it was only through him that she had lived all the years without becoming mad herself.

She just wished she had had the forethought to not dismiss his dreams then. It was war. They had all been broken somewhat. Hermione had just assumed it the burden on his shoulders that had taken a form in his psyche. She should have known, when her husband was concerned, the normal rules for mortals didn’t just bend, they went out of the window altogether.

She did not know how long it had been since she was prisoned. Time, in this plane, did not follow the same rules as in the land of the living. It was subservient to the whims of her _host _it seemed. Maybe it was a good thing? She hadn’t felt its corroding touch at least. She knew, instinctively, what could happen to her if she was exposed to its current now. A soul such as hers was not meant to be anywhere but within the dome of glorious warmth, she had been forced to leave behind. She was an aberration. And time…it hated aberrations just as much as it loathed paradoxes. Everything she had studied and known about it when she was living had made this clear to her.

A manic laugh snatched her attention from her thoughts as the bars of her prison cell were struck with a current.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. Her warden had a penchant for using means like these to gain her attention.

“I hope you’re still with us, dear,” the cold voice remarked.

Hermione remained silent. Unmoving. Knowing, her captor would only gain pleasure from hearing her pained voice.

“Oh, there you are,” Atropos was nearer now, she could tell. Her voice carried over from the pale curtains that covered her cage.

“You have to forgive us, dear. We did, for an instant, forget you were here actually. It is a flaw in us, alas,” she sighed theatrically. “We do tend to lose ourselves within our weave sometimes, you know. It’s such a marvellous thing. All those lives, a touch of our hand and their thread slip under and over the _great plan… _Oh, the power in our fingers…It can be quite exhilarating,” Atropos seemed to shudder in pleasure at the thought.

“Tell me though, have you given a thought to what we asked? It’s a matter of some urgency, dear heart,” she asked with false politeness.

Hermione didn’t plan to say anything. There was no reasoning with this psychotic bitch. Atropos was high on her _divine_ power. And for some reason, she had taken an offence with what Harry had done. Atropos had shown her everything. His attempts to travel back in time, his actions since his successful return, she had seen it all.

She could not be more proud of her Harry.

And when he was drowning in agony as the blood changed him and added into him the essence of the forebearers after the adoption ritual, it had taken everything in her to not cry out to him. Even then, ghostly tears had fallen from her eyes all the same. He was her everything. And after the life they had shared together, no matter how quickly it had ended, she knew she had to harden her heart to not betray his secrets. And so, she had stayed silent even in her mourning.

His face flashed before her eyes, smiling at her with the same lopsided grin of his. And the mere memory of him was enough to strengthen her resolve. She would not be bent. Not for this bitch, nor for anyone else. And when she considered it with some thought, It was good in a way, she supposed. If Atropos was this angry then it meant that he was still alive despite all her machinations. And to her, it meant everything.

A current that had until now stayed within the bounds of her cage jutted out towards her at her silence and struck her physically even in her ghostly form.

“AHHHHHHHH……”

She screamed in pain as if her soul was on fire.

“Silence will gain you nothing here, dear,” Atropos remarked and flicked her fingers to stop the jolt.

Hermione heaved heavy breaths as her form relaxed. She lifted her head and a few hairs parted from her face as she glared at the shadowy form of Atropos behind the curtains. “Ne…never!”

A cruel, mocking laugh erupted from Atropos’ lips at the response. “Oh my, the spirit! We’ll see if your convictions stay this rigid after I am done with you, dear heart. I do so hope you don’t break soon. My children in your world below have already started the preparations, you know. It’d be a shame were you to fall before they are done, wouldn’t it?”

Dread filled her as she understood what the bitch had planned. Before she could think anything else, the pain that had stopped just a few moments ago flared within her with a vengeance.

“ANHHHHHHHH……”

Atropos simply hummed as though attempting to match a symphony with her screams. “That’s it, dear, let it all out…” she giggled and soon was laughing along with her screams, delighting in her pain.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_“…emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…”  
“…emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…”_

The chanting voices echoed in her chamber as the gateway she had created to the world of living glowed with power.

“Oh look, they have started. Such obedient children, whatever would I do without them?” Atropos sighed happily.

Turning to her side she saw the limp form of the soul she had stolen. She was ready. Oh, there was a struggle within her still, she had no doubt of that. But it was nothing compared to what it had been before. A slight laugh escaped her at that. To have a soul in her hands…there was nothing she couldn’t make them do of she had the time. These pesky humans were strong-willed – a gift given to them by the one whose name she and every other being of the higher plane had long forgotten, after all these aeons without his presence – but even the strongest of them all had bent their knees when she was done with them.

Just like the soul before her.

If she’d had more time, she was sure she would have turned the little human to turn on her beloved of her own volition. But alas, her children were waiting with the vessel and she would have to make do with her weakened will rather than a broken one.

“It’s time, dear. The world is waiting…”

The soul attempted to struggle feebly. “N…no. Don’t…Please…”

Atropos snapped her fingers and the soul appeared in front of her, out of her cage. She had taken a lot of care not to let the soul see her visage, shrouding herself within a barrier. Mortal beings couldn’t look at divinity without exploding most brilliantly. And while it had its own _fun, _she needed this particular soul alive to return the weave as she had woven it to be.

_“…afíste tin psychí na entachtheí s 'aftó to skáfos kathós i megáli mitéra dioikeí.”  
(let the soul join the vessel as the great mother commands)_

“Last chance, dear heart. Will you help me return the weave as it was supposed to be?” she asked again.

She knew what would come out of her pet’s mouth before she said it. The spark of slight fire in her brown eyes had said it all, sadly. “No…no matter how many times you ask…I will **not **betray him…”

A cruel smirk came upon her face as she heard those words. “You will, my pet. It will be your hands that will strike him down. I have said so. And so shall it be.”

In an instant, she grasped the struggling soul with her hands and shoved it into the gateway her children had opened for her.

A golden glow surged into her chamber as she flared her considerable power.

_“…emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…”  
“…emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…”_

**“The world will burn, Harry Potter and your love for her will end your days…”**

-x-x-x-x-x-

“…Welcome, _Theïkóplo_. We, the prophets of the great mother welcome you to the world of the living once more. Do you know what it is our mistress wishes you to do?” the blue-eyed blonde woman asked in a soft voice.

The golden mark of _Ankh_ on Hermione’s small body glowed with an eerie light and a mist-covered her mind fogging her struggling thoughts.

“Yes,” Hermione replied in a small _conflicting_ voice.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“That went well,” Sirius quipped after taking a long sip from his teacup.

Harry chuckled slightly. “The plan, maybe, but I can’t say the same for your face, I’m afraid, Sirius. I reckon that cheek will stay red for a while longer.”

Sirius scowled at the reminder.

Harry laughed a little harder. “Oh come on. Cheer up. We got this done, Sirius. And all it took was two serial murderers off the streets and a bit of planning.”

“And a clip down my right cheek,” Sirius added sourly.

“And a clip down your right cheek,” Harry agreed. “But seriously though, did you really have to say it? _‘Does your hand feel heavy, Madam Bones? I can hold it for you.’” _A chortle escaped him as he remembered the look on Amelia’s face when she’d heard the words. “She was already a bit rocky after the _soirée _downstairs, I am not sure trying to chat her up then was the best remedy for whatever she was feeling.”

“You say that now…” Sirius mumbled inaudibly taking another sip to soothe his aching jaw.

Harry simply looked on, amused despite the serious conversation they had shared not an hour earlier. It had worked quite well for his plans. His _offerings_ had done much to sway her to his thinking and though she hadn’t decided one way or the other, he was certain it was only a matter of time now.

He had given her what her precious justice couldn’t for years. Revenge. And if there was one thing he knew could tilt her to his way of thinking, it was the closure that she had been denied for so long. 

She had said that she would be owling them with whatever she decided and he had wisely decided not to push. She was coming down from her high. The screams they had heard during the night had been enough for him to know that she had let go of one of the last tethers of her self-control to deal with her brother’s murderers. It would have been difficult for a woman with her convictions to consciously give in to her baser instincts.

And yet, she had done just that.

If for nothing else, Harry would give her some space for that alone.

Amelia Bones had certainly earned his respect.

And from his godfather’s face when she had departed, he wasn’t the only one who was impressed by her it seemed. He knew Sirius was getting a bit more _involved_ than he had to be with a woman who ran the whole Auror department for their nation. Harry knew he should have put a stop to it the first time he had seen it, but despite his warnings to him, he knew Sirius hadn’t had much luck with women in his life. With a mother like Walburga and sisters like a maniacal, insane dark witch and a nosy uppity prejudiced trophy wife, he had never really stood a chance.

And speaking of, his godfather had become a bit more pensive than his usual self. Especially after his late-night meeting with Amelia. During the time she had busied herself downstairs, he and Sirius had had a little chat about what had transpired in the meeting in her office.

Something Sirius had said had given him an idea as to what it could be about but Harry hadn’t touched the topic since.

_“She said Dumbledore shut her down when she attempted to look into Runcorn,” Sirius said with a deep frown. “Why would he do that?”_

Suffice to say Harry was pleased with the directions where Sirius’ thoughts were taking him. Sirius wasn’t thick. He knew that. What he was, however, was fiercely loyal. And manipulations or not, Dumbledore had done much for him and his friends to earn that loyalty. Harry could only hope that this thread could unravel whatever curtain the meddler’s had on Sirius’ eyes.

A sharp rap on the window brought his attention and he saw a brown tawny owl sitting on the ledge glaring at him with large black eyes.

Harry hopped down the chair and walked towards the kitchen window. He opened the glass and as though it was invitation enough, the owl glided down the kitchen table and settled itself, preening its feathers.

A little wrangling with the owl and he had the letter dislodged from the owl’s legs in exchange for a bowl of water which he slid towards the avian messenger.

“Expecting something?” Sirius asked coming from down the hall.

“Quite a few somethings actually,” Harry answered distractedly waving his wand at the levitating parchment as he checked for any curses or jinxes.

When the letter glowed a pale blue, he slid his wand back into his sleeve and plucked the letter from the air. Opening the folds he read the first few words and a wide smile formed on his face. He finished the letter and chucked it onto the table. He was out of the kitchen before the letter landed.

“Hey! Where to?” Sirius asked confusedly.

“She’s here, Sirius. She’s finally here!” Harry yelled back as he grabbed the coin pouch from the side table and ran outside. He paused in his steps when a stray thought reminded him of his _guests _downstairs. Turning back to his frowning godfather he said, “Leave _them_ down in the basement. I’ll take care of it tonight.”

“Fine. But…” before Sirius could finish the sentence Harry had already cast the _disillusionment charm _on himself and, with a turn and crack, was gone in an instant.

His frown turned to a smirk as he thought of a possible _‘she’_ Harold could have meant. “Well, at least he’s not stalking her anymore.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry arrived at the apparition point at the lesser used eastern edge of the Diagon Alley, facing the back entrance of Knockturn. There were a few dredges of society walking about but he had expected as much. His arrival had twitched a few ears in his direction but when they saw nothing, the nosy stragglers had wandered off without pause.

He moved with a joy that he had scarcely felt ever since coming back. He didn’t quite believe in consecutive victories anymore, given that they hadn’t happened to him all that often, but the owl mail this morning had been the best piece of new he’d gotten in a while. Some part of him was dreading the obvious, ‘drop of the other shoe,’ but his happiness had managed to contain it somewhat. And as it was something he had been hoping to hear for a couple of weeks now so, it wasn’t some unexpected news that could bungle things up for him either. His experiences in life had taught him to enjoy the small moments of happiness he could get.

Coming near the entrance to Diagon, he shifted to a lone corner and seeing no eyes around, cancelled his disillusionment charm with a flick of his wand. Now quite visible, he moved into the crowd and let it carry him towards his destination into the alley proper.

A couple of hundred meters and a twenty-minute walk later he was standing outside the shop with a wandering mind. There were quite a lot of things that could go very differently from his expectations.

The branch of magic that his current dilemma was related to was never fully explored even by the most brilliant of academics. Though the _bond_ wasn’t considered a common occurring per se, it wasn’t rare either and hence hadn’t caught the fancy of the multitudes of researchers who delved in such things. Everything he had read on the subject had been speculations with very little theory to back it up.

But he knew _her. _

And he hoped she would know him too.

He took another look at the board and breathed in a fortifying breath.

'_Magical Menagerie.'_

The bell tinkled announcing his arrival inside the smelly and congested shop. He put a single foot inside and got the same cold welcome he had gotten before. “Got the mail, I see.” The obese man, the owner of the menagerie was high up on the ladder cleaning the nests of various avian species and their droppings. “Don’t just stand there blocking the door! Come in, boy.”

Harry sighed and came through the door proper. The man was just as much rude as he had been the last few times. Apparently, the fact that he had known about a specific delivery before it was actually delivered hadn’t sat right with him even when he had told the man a completely believable story about his friend delivering the stock down in Carkitt. As far as cock n’ bull stories went, the one he had given the man should have been on the up and up.

Maybe the man was simply suspicious of everybody. Harry hadn’t known him that well before, after all. He had only been here a couple of times when Ron or Hermione needed some food or specialised tonics for their pets and he himself had mostly ordered treats from Hogsmeade or by mail order.

The man came down from his perch and eyed him speculatively once more. Harry held his gaze with a frown of his own. Having had enough of the staring contest, he asked, “Can I see her?”

The shopkeeper broke the eye contact and turned his back to an open box that had some hay and straws jutting out of it every which way. “Yeah. She’s right here. Came just this mon’ng,” he answered turning around with his hands cupping something white and tiny as it wiggled in his large hands.

His breath hitched when he laid eyes on her. A beat quickened in his heart as if to coax him to move before time itself traversed the stream. The white plumage on her tiny body was thin but very full, foreshadowing the beauty she would become in later years. Her small amber eyes were looking around, trying to take everything in all at once. She was so small…so tiny…but it was _her!_

The owner stepped towards him and she darted her eyes to the front, trying to look past the man’s large hands. Just when their eyes met, a _familiar_ feeling stirred within his gut and he knew, with utter certainty, she was _his. _

Her last moments flashed before his eyes when she had taken a curse that had been meant for him and his eyes grew moist.

A breathy whisper escaped his lips. “Hedwig…”

The moment was broken when the man looked at him sharply. “What was that?”

Harry collected himself and give the man a dismissing smile. “Nothing. She just…she just looks like my mum’s owl,” he said shaking his head a little. “I’d like to have her. How much?”

The shopkeeper turned and walked behind the waist-length glass shelves that worked as a barrier between his stocks and customers. “She’s young. I don’t sell ‘em till they’re two,” he said with a straight face.

Harry knew this game. He’d had to play it more times than he cared to admit. But seeing the man trying to shake him down when, at least to him, he was only a six/seven- year old boy? Harry took one look at his faithful friend in his grasp and sighed inaudibly. “Good to know. How much?”

The owner smiled at that. It was a greasy, smarmy sort of smile that made Harry want to curse the shit of him, but he relented. Barely. “Fifty Galleons. Not a knut less.”

Alright, that wasn’t too bad. The greedy bastard was simply charging him double. More or less. The usual price for mail-owls was somewhere around twenty-five to thirty galleons and bit more if they were rare breeds.

But why charge double though? That was the question, wasn’t it?

Was it as simple as the man disliking him? And even then why try to swindle a kid when there couldn’t possibly be a way for him to have fifty galleons lying in his pockets? Even an amount half of that was a stretch but it could be passed off as an expense for a child’s first pet. Did he simply didn’t want to sell her? That didn’t make any sense either. The man owned a shop for pets for Merlin’s sake!

Then it hit him.

It was a fucking _test._

The fat fuck was trying to gauge him. But why? Harry hadn’t given the man any reason to doubt him with the story he’d fed him. And even then he’d have no way to verify it since the friend whom he’d said would be delivering Hedwig to Carkitt didn’t work there. Plus, it was such a small fucking thing. Wizards, even the sketchy ones like the owner seemed to be, though not as doting on children, not of their own, weren’t _this _suspicious of kids. At least he hadn’t met any who were. And there were more than a few people who bred owls and sold the owlet parliaments to various menageries. So, it couldn’t be that. Was the man simply a bit paranoid? Or had he missed something?

Perhaps. But this wasn’t the right time to mull over his interactions with the man. With a show, Harry pulled out the coin pouch and without opening it fully, dove his hand inside pretending to count. He smiled a bit apologetically at the man’s annoyed expression and continued to move his hands inside. With a sniff, the obese man turned to put Hedwig back into a nest directly behind the counter and continued to clean the shelves as before.

With a shrewd eye, Harry noticed the man kept stealing glances towards the stairs that went upstairs. It _was_ possible that the man was hiding some cross-breeds that had been outlawed by the ministry. Hagrid couldn’t be the only one to have _a great fondness _for the beings who could kill you a hundred different ways. And it would certainly explain the shopkeeper’s suspicious nature.

The menagerie was little ways down towards the cross where Diagon met Horizont Alley. And even though it was in Diagon proper, the traffic was certainly nothing as compared to the centre where most of the other shops that sold school supplies were located.

Even now, when it was half-past nine, he was the only customer the menagerie had.

His instincts that were until now suppressed somewhat by the joy of seeing his familiar once again were now niggling at the back of his mind, buzzing incessantly. As surreptitiously as he could, Harry darted his eyes around to see if the place was something more than it seemed to be.

The shelves were the same as they had been before. Filthy and full of various species of animals, magical and otherwise. The three Puffskeins he had seen earlier were still floating around. The baby Runespoors had gained a bit of length and were still lounging the lone corner for some sunlight. And even the Horned Toads were exactly in the same place, croaking their displeasure at being caged.

He jingled the coins once more and to show his commitment to the task, brought out a couple of galleons onto the counter, _so it’d be easier to_ _count. _

Another quick look to his left and something caught his eye. A box at the lowest tier of the shelf was moving slightly, edging towards the drop. The next moment the head of a small green snake lifted from the lid and a forked tongue flicked from its mouth, tasting the air.

Harry smirked inwardly. His job had just gotten a bit easier.

_‘Just like the old days, then.’ _He thought to himself, remembering the countless raids in which he had used his reptilian friends to scout for his squad. It was funny how prejudice and fear of something absurd evaporated in an instant when one’s very life was at stake. Even Justin, their resident explosive expert had never said a single thing to him when he had started taking advantage of the supposed _dark arts _to provide resources and food for the Resistance.

In one quick motion, he extended his wand from his sleeves just a little and cast a silencing ward in a very small radius with him as the centre. It was nothing that would hold up to a general-counter spell, but it was enough for a quick chat.

  * _“Hello_…_”_**§** he hissed.

The snake looked at him sharply, his beady eyes glaring at him as though judging his worth. **§**_”Ssspeaker?”_**§** the snake hissed back just as suspicious as his owner.

  * _”Yes. Do you know what’s above those stairs?”_**§ **Harry asked quickly.

The snake regarded him with a look which perfectly conveyed that it knew what Harry was doing. Perhaps it was just for revenge after having been kept in captivity for so long or perhaps it was just its nature but just when Harry was beginning to think that the snake wouldn’t respond, it hissed back in what seemed to him like a contemptuous voice, **§**”_Humansss….Sssick Humansss.”**§ **_

And with those words, the snake was back inside his lid leaving Harry with more questions than before.

Confused and with little time to think about it, Harry flicked his wand to dismiss the ward and gathered all the coins he had put onto the corner back into his pouch. Right now, the shopkeeper was expecting him to either cough up the gold and prove whatever suspicions he had to be true or to give up Hedwig. And _that_ was never going to happen. He’d just have to figure out what the snake had meant by _sick humans _when he returned later.

Harry masked his face into a one of disappointment and looked at the man dejectedly. “Oh…well, I don’t have that much on me. I’d have to ask mum. Can you…can you please hold onto her for me,” he said in a small pleading voice. And then as though he had just remembered what the man had said to him earlier, he continued in a more confident voice, “You said you would keep her for a week!”

The shopkeeper frowned and turned a little on his side to look at him, possibly having remembered saying such a thing to him. And then with a slight shake of his head, returned to cleaning the shelves at the back. “I suppose I did. Just a week then, boy. I won’t sell her for another year or two after that, no matter your gold,” he said as he turned and towered over the shelf to look at him menacingly.

Harry nodded with an enthusiasm to match his purported age. “Deal!” he said with a hand out front for a shake.

Before the man could take his hand, the bell tinkled one more and a wizard in a dark blue hooded robe entered the shop. Harry acted as though he hadn’t noticed the arrival but could see the man moving past the shelves pretending to browse without actually paying any attention towards the animals. His eyes caught another similarly dressed fellow waiting outside looking decidedly nervous while holding another figure by the forearm.

The owner discarded his laid back routine and with some urgency took his hand and gave a shake. “Yeah…Deal.”

With a side glance at the strange wizard to his right and a longing look back at Hedwig, who was now nuzzling the straws inside her nest, he left the shop thinking about the plan that was coming along in his mind.

_‘Definitely not just a menagerie then…I wonder how Sirius would look in a dress.’_

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Absolutely not!” Sirius exclaimed.

“How about a transfigured robe then, with a hood. Nobody would even recognise you, Sirius,” said Harry, more than a little amused.

“That…that doesn’t matter! _I _would know, wouldn’t I?” Sirius replied.

Harry smothered his laugh. “What do you suggest then?”

“Does it have to be your _mum_ who has to go? And how do you even know he’s hiding something? You said you were the only one with him in the shop.”

“Yes, but he was acting shifty, Sirius. And when I was leaving there was this guy…” he shook his head, not sure how to describe the feeling he’d gotten. “Look, he deliberately hiked the price to see what I’ll do. Who gives their kid fifty galleons for pocket change? And a pet store owner who doesn’t want to sell the pets?” Harry asked arching his brow. “Tell me that doesn’t seem off to you.”

Sirius visibly deflated at that. “Sure. But loads of people go to his shop, Harold. Are you telling me none of them noticed what you did?”

He simply looked at him with a deadpanned expression. “Loads of people knew you, Sirius. Are you telling me none of them noticed the difference between your murderous doppelganger and yourself?”

Sirius grimaced.

“Wizards, as I am sure you must have noticed by now, don’t stray from their common conceptions. And even if there’s nothing wrong with the man I still need you with me to convince the fat bastard. It’d look odd if I just turned up with the gold.”

When he saw him about to cave, Harry relented a bit more. “Tell you what, we can just use glamour on your face if you don’t want to dress up.”

Sirius sighed and stood up from his chair. “Fiiine. But after that I need to get back to my apartment, Gawain has noticed my restless feet. He’d be wondering where I am going after a while.”

A crease formed on Harry’s forehead. “That could be a problem.”

“Maybe,” Sirius agreed. “But for now, he is back inside Umbitch’s arse looking for change.”

Harry groaned at the image. The toady bitch had become a bit more resourceful than she had been during his Hogwarts years. Either her influence had drained somewhat in the years that had followed or she hadn’t exerted as much pressure as she could have for some reason. Either way, they needed to keep an eye on her. 

An hour later, with Sirius under a glamour charm, they were off to Diagon Alley. With brown hair, blue eyes and tall stature, Sirius was looking every bit of _Harold’s father. _

Another apparition, this time a bit more close to Diagon proper, and they arrived in the shop without fanfare and the bells tinkled once more signalling their entry. Without a word, Harry led Sirius inside and not seeing the shopkeeper at the front, rang the bell on the counter.

“Hold on a moment, I’m coming.” Came the shout from above rather than the back.

Harry looked at Sirius with a raised brow. There was definitely something upstairs. And it couldn’t be an apartment because all the shops on this end of the alley were just ground level with a small attic above. The apothecary adjacent was much the same just with an open brewing station on the floor above which was quite visible to the customers.

The man came hurrying down the small corridor with heavy feet and rushed to the counter, a little out of breath. “How can I he…” he paused looking at him. “…you again,” he drawled and shifted his attention to Sirius. “Brought your father I see.”

“Hello.” Sirius greeted with a small smile. “Can we see her, please?”

The man grunted in mild annoyance but turned to get Hedwig and her nest on the counter. “As I told the boy, I won’t sell her for a knut less than fifty.”

Sirius nodded with a smile. “_Henry _here said as much. Why, if I may ask, are you charging this much for a mere mail-owl and a recently hatched one at that?”

The burly man shrugged. “My shop. I can charge whatever I see fit.”

“Of course. But as you can see it’s the boy’s first owl. I’m sure you can understand how much the first pet means to children, can’t you? Now, I can’t simply afford fifty, but how about thirty-five. I can…”

Harry tuned out the argument. He knew what the owner was doing. Now that he had set a price and his hunch had been proven to be without basis, he was trying to stick with the act, hoping they would think that he was merely being greedy. Harry would have commended him for his presence of mind in such a tricky situation had he not been busy sensing the man’s magic that barely flared out of his body. A couple of seconds later, he was sure. The owner’s magic was much like him, rigid and cold. Inflexible.

While Sirius was busy distracting the shopkeeper, he had just one simple task.

Find out what was hidden above.

With slow casual movements, he walked towards the very edge of the shelves and cages that lined the wall as close to the stairway as he could get.

With his back to the counter, he cast the _homenum_ _revelio _spell to check for any other presences in the surrounding environment, sure that the burly man wouldn’t be able to sense the marker on himself with his magic being so dense and rigid.

He waited for a second and then cast the mage sight charm on himself. The human revealing spell would create a glowing marker on the person and the mage sight would be able to see it even through the floorboards.

As per his usual modus operandi a third charm, this one a _supersensory_ _charm _enhanced his senses.

It had taken his mind years to adapt to the overload of information his brain got whenever he cast the trifecta on himself. It was more than a little uncomfortable now that he was not really inhabiting his old body but it was manageable.

He didn’t even have to squint when the invisible magical wave spread through the upper floor and stopped at the edge of the roof and markers began to show.

_‘Thirteen! What the fuck are thirteen people doing squatting above a pet shop?’ _he thought, thoroughly confused. ‘_The snake said there were sick humans there… What are you up to you fat fuck?’_

He heard some murmurs from above and concentrated. There was a weird scent in the air that he knew but just couldn’t put a finger on it. And then some of the muffled words caught his ears.

“The potion…last of them…it will not be enough!”

They were just bits and pieces and without a context, there was nothing he would understand just hearing the fragments.

“What are you doing there boy?” the owner shouted from behind the counter and he cringed in pain as the volume of his gruff voice was increased by the supersensory charm. “Your father’s done the payment already! Enough browsing for the day if you ain’t buying anything else.”

Harry cancelled the charms with a subtle flick of his wand and turned back as smoothly as he could.

“’was just looking, old man. You’ve got nice toads there. My friends been looking for some,” said Harry with false cheer.

His eyes caught the bundle of white feathers in his godfather’s hands and he steadied himself for a moment.

With slow deliberate steps, he moved towards her and gently took her from Sirius’ grasp. The owlet turned her neck to look at him in the bizarre way only an owl could and studied him with her wide open amber eyes.

Without warning, his magic surged inside him as though lifting up to touch a higher note of a symphony. He knew the bond that had been severed in his past after her death had reawakened when her amber eyes pulsed once in response to his own surge and nuzzled her face into his small hands.

Without a word to the owner, he walked out of the shop not even bothering to take Sirius with him.

He had missed her. He had missed the feeling of constant companionship that the bond between them provided. And until he had lost it and got it back, he hadn’t realised the intensity of it. Hadn’t realised how much it had affected him…changed him.

A small _prek_! from her and a smile bloomed on his face. She was just as he remembered her. Amazing.

Sirius came outside and put a hand around his shoulders. “Ever going to tell me why you were so fixated on buying this owl?”

“Maybe” he replied unattentively.

Sirius sighed. “Well then, at least tell me that you found something in the shop? I hadn’t thought it possible then but the man _was _an arse for no reason. Did you know he kept asking me where I work? Why the hell should that matter for an owl purchase?!”

Harry finally looked away from sleeping Hedwig and turned to Sirius. “Yeah. There are thirteen people squatting in the space above the shop where there only should be a small attic. I suppose with expansion charms one could make enough space…but, well, I don’t know what to think yet,” he shook his head and continued walking towards the apparition point. Then he remembered something. “I smelled something too.”

“_Smelled _something?” Sirius asked. “Like what? You know I seem to remember hearing that droppings of some of the magical species of rare breeds are used in making healing potions.”

Harry frowned. “So?”

“So maybe you smelled that? They _do_ use those in hospitals. And with your line of work, I am sure you must be familiar with every kind of healing potion there is. I have seen some of your scars, mate.”

“Yes, well, we can’t do anything about it now. Not without any clue about what he’s doing there. And we’ve got problems of our own to deal with. Still have two _house_ _guests_ back at the cottage if you don’t remember.”

“_You_ were the one who dragged me here,” Sirius accused.

Harry ignored him.

A couple of steps later, they reached the apparition point and disapparated back to the cottage.

As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Sirius was moving back. “I have to go back to the apartment. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “tomorrow.”

When he heard a crack, he looked down to see Hedwig stirring from her sleep.

“Hi Hedwig…” he breathed softly. “You’re finally home…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

Eight hours, a few of them spent playing with a really energetic Hedwig, Harry was standing in the same forest he had caught Greyback in.

It was just as creepy as it had been the night before. He had never understood why the werewolves were drawn to places like these. He knew that they craved nature and that it somehow subsided their more primal urges but there were countless forests that were isolated and did _not _look like people get murdered there.

But then he saw the two body bags lying on his feet and shrugged.

It did have its benefits.

He brought out his wand and with a few deft flicks and a steady wave, there was a soil mound and a trench to fit the bodies of both bastards within.

He levitated Macnair first and dropped him in the trench with a solid thump!

A shaky breath left him as he remembered how long he had waited for this day to come. The fucker had carved him up like a turkey once. Had made a mess of his back and was the reason why some of his people hadn’t had the mercy of a quick death when they had been caught in the raids.

A hollow rage burned inside him as he remembered the monstrous acts of one Walden Macnair.

It was over, he told himself. And even if he wasn’t the one who had ripped out his soul, he was at least the reason that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone anymore.

And dark smirk came to his face as he remembered the butcher’s body. He might not have had a chance to pay the man back for the scars on his back but Amelia had not restrained herself when dealing with the man. He’d had to stick some of his toes back to his hands and feet before putting him in the bag.

He hadn’t thought that people would understand his need for revenge. Had never held on to the hope that the would see him as anything but a monster, but seeing Amelia, he knew, he was not alone in his hunger.

Ridding his mind of the dark thoughts, he turned back and levitated Greyback in the same hole.

“Katie Belchley, Thomas Bailey, Cathryn Pince, Sylvia Bones, Roger Bones, Amanda Bones…This is for all those poor souls you ravaged you bastards…” He spat at the grave. “…and for those who you will never get to hurt again.”

With a simple wave of his wand, the hole started to fill itself with the soil from the mound.

A shuddering breath escaped him as the earth became flat again, burying with it the most wicked of men.

He kept looking at the spot though. Struggling with his thoughts. There will be more bodies to bury soon. And there will be more blood on his hands. No matter how many allies he had and no matter how many of those he saved, the one to save _him_ was forever lost to him.

Her face flashed before his eyes. Just like always, smiling at him with caring and loving eyes. Her voice whispered in his ears the sweet nothings and words of comfort to alleviate his pain.

It was all he had of her. Phantoms of times spent together.

A voice startled him out of her reverie.

“Back again I see.”

Harry tensed in an instant. He turned around looking every which way, coiled and ready to run at a moment’s notice.

“You won’t find me as easily, heathen,” the voice echoed among the trees.

Harry stayed quiet and kept his eyes open in search of the disembodied voice that had at least seen him _twice_ doing something incriminating.

“What gives one right to call these men monsters when he is one himself?”

He stilled at those words. He didn’t know the voice, he was sure of it. But the voice knew him it seemed. And it wasn’t just the things he had done in these woods, the words were tinged with the loathing that could only come from someone who had seen much of what he had done.

“Do you even deserve the love you cling to with such fierceness?”

_That_, broke his silence. “Show yourself!” he hissed.

“So you can kill me as well? I think not, _nullifidian._” The voice said with open contempt.

Harry looked around in a vain attempt to find his accuser. He cast a revealing charm in a split second and got nothing in return. A gust of wind from his wand showed nothing hiding nearby.

A mocking laugh echoed in the woods as the voice howled at his failure.

“I have the protections of the great mother herself, heathen. Your _magic_ would not touch me in this form.”

A shade, surrounded by dull grey mist lifted from behind the cover of trees and glided towards him.

Harry’s fingers clenched at his wand grip. _She_ – now that he could tell it was a woman’s voice – wasn’t a ghost. He was certain. Ghosts couldn’t affect their surroundings in even the slightest manner and she was giving off some serious magical discharge. And now that his magical senses were running on all cylinders, he noticed something strange. The surge from her floating form was diffusing on its own, as though she feeding off on the magic that she, herself was releasing!

He had never seen anything like it before.

“Shocked to see something out of your depth?” she asked snidely as though she had heard his thoughts.

Harry tightened his occlumency barriers to their limits. He didn’t know if it was just a mind game, but the woman was trying to startle him. Well, more than she already had. Shaking his head to rid himself of the doubts, he took a deep breath. He’d need to be calm to play her game.

“Not really,” he replied, “just wondering what a pretty witch, like yourself, is doing in these woods at night.” He brought a hand to his lips as though telling her a secret. “I hear there are wolves about you know?”

“I am no _witch, _you nihilist!” she spat, disgusted by the mere word.

“Oh?” he asked surprised. “If you keep hiding in the shadows how am I to tell then, milady? Perhaps some light needs to be shed on the matter eh?”

The next instant, he slashed his wand to his side and with a whisper of, **“Lumos Solem,” **the clearing was filled with a light as dense as though the sun was shining upon it in the middle of the night.

The female voice cried out in pain as the light hit her without warning. “AANGH!”

But Harry was already moving. With a crack, he appeared in front of her and cast a single spell on her clothes.

**“Duro!”**

The spell worked as he intended and the fabric on her skin turned to stone, dismissing her balance.

With a single pull, he heaved the startled woman to the ground just as the light from his spell ended and before she could push him away with her arms where the fabric hadn’t touched her skin, he had his wand on her neck and was already removing the charm she had done to camouflage her presence.

To his surprise, it took more power than he had believed it would but with a sickening, ripping noise, the charm failed and he saw her face for the first time that night.

Long blonde curls hid the left side of her face as the shinning blue eye looked at him with a hateful look. Her red lips were stretched in a sneer as she attempted to bite off his face with her teeth.

He had seen her before! s

Thoroughly surprised and with a knot of fear growing inside him, he hissed at her, “Who are you?”

She stayed silent, not even bothering to move her arms anymore.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” he repeated harshly.

Her sneer turned into a vicious smirk and she looked at him as he lost his composure, having recognised her. 

“Not the right question…” she returned. “The question you should be asking is where is your dear wife?” she giggled with sick glee.

He got off her in a flash with a curse on his lips.

Before he could cast she stopped him with a finger, “Un un un…you so much as twitch that _wand_ of yours in my direction and you will find her in pieces, you filth!” she snarled.

Harry seethed with a burning fury. The bitch knew him. She knew who he was. And worse, she knew Hermione. He should have known to trust his gut when he’d felt something wrong seeing the blonde with her in the school park.

He cursed himself inwardly. He knew the dangers that lived in their world. He should have known sick fucks like the blonde bitch would drag Hermione into the mess no matter how much he tried to keep her safe.

But would she stoop so low as to kill an innocent seven-year-old girl just to get to him?

He knew, seeing her eyes, that she was capable of murder. Just a single glance at those unflinching blue orbs and he was certain, she was not someone he could just dismiss with a simple wave of his wand.

But to kill a child? That took an especially cold soul.

Could he take that chance?

It wasn’t even a question he had to ponder. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to save his beloved.

“What do you want?” he snarled, controlling his fury.

The woman laughed at him. A deranged, maniacal laugh. “You think you can _bargain _for her life?” she chuckled darkly and then fixed her eyes on his own and spat at him. “What I wanted was to see your eyes when you realised there was nothing you could do to save her, destroyer. What I wanted was to look you in the face and tell you that you failed…Failed to keep her safe. The great mother will have her soul just like everyone else whom you have come back to save.”

Harry stood still. Sounds of blood rushing through his veins thrummed in his ears as his mind dissected her words. _‘The great mother,’ ‘have her soul?’_

Then it hit him with the force of a freight train.

“Atropos…” it left from his lips in a whisper and his knees buckled.

The woman frothed at the mouth at the perceived disrespect and shouted, “YOU DARE SAY HER NAME? YOU DARE? MISTRESS WILL BURN HER BEFORE DEVOURING HER SOUL, YOU DEFILER. SHE WILL HAVE HER AND NOTHING YOU DO WILL BE ENOUGH! YOUR WORLD WILL BURN, JUST LIKE IT WAS ALWAYS MEANT TO BE!”

With that, she smeared the blood from the cut on her body and painted it onto the symbol on her left arm her he hadn’t noticed before.

His eyes widened as he recognised the mark on her flesh. _‘The prophets!’ _

Before he could lunge at her, there was a bright light from the mark and a surge of magic so powerful that he was thrown back with a crash.

Harry scrambled back to his feet and looked around, searching wildly. “COME BACK! YOU COME BACK!”

Silence answered his screams.

A growl came from his throat and he steadied himself beside a tree. The woman was no doubt working with others of her kind.

_‘The fucking prophets.’ _

The pet projects of a raving bitch. He’d kill her. He didn’t know how, but he’d rip her tongue from her mouth.

Without thinking, he brought out a silver bracelet from his robes and tapped it with his wand. The bracelet glowed a deep blue and he almost cried in joy.

_‘Got her, you bitch!’ _

Anchoring the bracelet to his magic so as to not have to picture his destination, he turned and with a crack, disapparated…and appeared an instant later, crashing on the ground with a sickening sound.

“AHHHHHHH….”

His screams echoed in the woods as he writhed on the ground in agony. A brief look at his arm and he saw it jutting out of its socket and the bone gouging the flesh.

“FUCCCKK!”

The block had been powerful and he had attempted to travel through it without a single defensive spell on himself.

The pain was just the reminder of his stupidity.

He tried to tap the ground with his good hand to find his wand even as his blood drained the dry leaves littered on the forest floor.

His hand touched the familiar polished wood and he grasped it at once.

He was in no shape to cast the mending spell as he knew the muscle and sinew had been torn off during his attempt to apparate into a warded zone.

He knew the spell, but it would take a much steadier hand than his own at the moment.

Harry took a calming breath and focused his thoughts. He was no good to Hermione dead. 

With a slightly less tremble in his left hand, he touched the wand at the break and cast, **“Ossious Emendo.”**

“UNGHHHH…..”

He muffled his screams and dared to look at the wound. The muscle was still torn and flesh was still open, but the bone had popped back into the socket and the break was repaired. Good. He would be able to handle everything else with a bandage until he could heal it properly.

**“Ferula.”**

White bandages erupted from the end of his wand and wrapped themselves around the wound, closing it temporarily.

He sighed as the pain dulled enough to help him think coherently again.

_'The bracelet tied to the charm I cast on Hermione turned blue. So, the tracking charm is still definitely working, but the place she's being kept has been warded.’ _

It was both good news and bad.

Now he knew the place and, given time, could decipher the co-ordinates from the charm but he also knew he’d have to get outside the property line, assuming that was the reach of the wards.

Did he have the luxury of wasting time when Hermione was in the hands of those sick fanatics though?

_‘No. I need to figure out what I am dealing with. And how the hell does the fucking prophets have enough magic to cast wards in the first place?! Aren't they essentially muggles? Atropos isn’t allowed to interfere directly, **she **told me as much. The fuck is happening?’ _he struggled, agitated and confused with the situation getting out of hands in such a small span of time.

Nothing was making sense.

He needed to think. He could get to Hermione easily, but there would no doubt be barriers stopping him rescuing her.

He needed to _know_ what he was up against.

Know…_knowledge_!!!

His mind suddenly came to a halt.

He needed someone who would know what would happen. He needed an _insider_!

With a mental fuck you to the queen bitch herself, he stood up.

Casting a look around he saw bits and pieces of his torn robes on the ground along with his fresh blood. There was no way that the fucking ministry stooges wouldn’t find him with the evidence right there for the taking.

_‘The magical surge from the blonde woman would have been more than enough to get their ears twitching.’_

Knowing the time was of the essence he summoned all the torn pieces of his clothes and dropped them on the leaves that were soaked with his blood.

**“Livenola Inflamare.”**

The bluebell flames soared from the tip of his wand and burned every piece of fabric on the dirt without marring the soil itself.

Wizards thought bluebell flames to be something of a plaything. They confined it within jars to light their houses, they let children play with them without fear.

None but a few knew it’s true nature. Bluebell flames were capable of completely annihilating a single object upon which it was cast. It didn’t hurt the flesh or the living, but from the wand of a wizard with enough control over his magic, it could consume the most rigid of things.

Harry saw the black fabric shrivel up and die inside the churning blue flames and hastily repeated the process for his spilt blood after dousing the flames.

Lifting his still shaking left arm, he conjured a smooth piece of cloth to use as a sling for his right arm and cast a numbing charm on the wounded limb.

Breathing out slowly he focused his thoughts once more. He knew he cutting it a little close but he couldn’t afford to splinch himself now. Hermione was counting on him even though she probably didn’t know he was coming…or who he was.

The thought of her, scared and alone in a place filled with fucking heretics immolated his fury and he clenched his fists. With a destination in mind and steely resolve, he disappeared with a resounding **crack!**

The woods returned to their silence, having witnessed the clashing beliefs of two beings on either end of the balance.

A wandering gust of wind eroded away their footprints as the critters returned from their hollows.

A few moments later, two muffled cracks broke the silence as two hooded figures appeared out of thin air.

“This is the site?” a male voice asked.

“Yes, Agent Bernard. Sensors picked up a serious flare around the clearing ahead.” A female voice replied.

“Hmm…” the _Agent _hummed looking around. “Let’s see what we’ve got…”

-x-x-x-x-x-

The front yard was just as untidy as the last time he had seen it. The copses of Snargaluffs and Gurdyroots were scattered along the small hedges around the garden, protecting the other delicate fauna from the alien touch. The broken-down kissing gate guarded the green array of foliage.

He pushed the small wooden door open and stepped inside the garden, knowing full well that at least one person inside the black-coloured cylindrical house sitting on top of the hill would know of his presence.

With quick steps, he cleared the distance between the garden and the house itself and came near the back door.

Two old crab apple trees stood on either side of it, bearing berry-sized fruits and white-headed mistletoe, just as a little Owl with a slightly flattened hawk-like head possibly belonging to the owners preked sharply, perched on a thick tree branch.

He hid behind the first tree on the side and sat beside the storm shed.

There was only one reason for his presence here.

If he was meant to be here and for whatever reason, if _she_ held the answers, then he had to see her. And if half the stories he had been told about her were true, then she would already know that he was standing outside her door.

So he waited.

He had nothing to go on but faith.

Half a minute passed. Nothing.

One minute. Silence.

His hands rubbed his tired eyes as doubt flared inside his mind. _‘I should be searching for her!’ _

A minute and a half.

His eyes prickled as thoughts of Hermione’s small frail body in a cage ravaged his mind. _‘She didn’t deserve this…She doesn’t even know about anything. I should have protected her! I should have done more!’_

“Doubts would not help you now, stranger,” a soft melodic voice broke his meanderings.

His neck snapped upwards with a jolt and he jumped to his legs.

His quarry stood there, in front of him, dressed in a cream coloured evening gown looking at the spot he was hiding with glassy, vacant eyes.

“She’s alive?” he asked in a hoarse whisper hoping she knew.

Her eyes changed at the question, becoming a bit sharper as she looked up at the dark sky. “She is…”

He smothered his urge to simply take the woman with her and comported himself with a force of will. “Tell me…please.” A tear rolled down his cheek in his desperation.

The woman stood silently for some time. Unmoving, as she looked at something only she could see in the stars.

Just when he was beginning to think that she wouldn’t answer, she spoke again in a strange musical litany. “You will find her at the place where she stopped being just herself and became something more. The place that gave you both what you needed from life.”

Harry scowled for a moment as he heard another riddle. His fists tightened around the bark of the tree as he began to think about what the woman had said.

Images flashed before his mind of the places that meant something to him and Hermione both. Her house in Heathgate, Hogwarts, their house in Devon, numerous others bombarded his mind trying to match the words from the woman with the times they had spent together in them.

A soft hand touched his own and everything stilled within him. A strange clarity filled his being and with a certainty, a picture of a small valley came into the forefront of his mind.

His blue eyes caught her pale silvery ones and he nodded in thanks.

Just as he was about to turn away, the hand on his own tightened and stopped him. “you **will **return and explain why I saw the things I did,” she said with a commanding tone.

He nodded again. “I will. I promise.”

With that, he left the back yard and moved with a brisk pace to cross the garden before disapparating.

He knew the woman would demand answers. Had known it ever since he had decided to ask her for help.

There was a price to be paid when you meddled with the Fates. And he had just kicked the hornet's nest by pitting one of them against the other.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the maudlin thoughts, he took one last look at the hill he had just left behind and disappeared without a sound.

He didn’t notice the woman still standing near the doors, looking at the spot where he stood with shining grey eyes trying to understand why this meeting had been something important to her.

A shout from the house broke her reverie. “Pandora dear, the roast’s done.”

“I’m coming, Xeno. Wake up Luna, would you?”

-x-x-x-x-x-

**~ Review please ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** \- 1. I swear I had no intention of leaving it here. But the effing document manager was spitting out the chapter with ANSI characters. I could only amend this much of the chapter in the last three days. I will post another chapter, “Of Choices and Prophets part-3” in a day or so. I promise. I really didn’t mean for it to in three segments.  
I am just as annoyed as you are. 
> 
> 2\. Legend  
• Theïkóplo – The vessel of Atropos.  
• Nullifidian – A person having no faith in a deity. An unbeliever.  
0\. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?
> 
> Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running.
> 
> Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it.
> 
> And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting.
> 
> Thank You.
> 
> Please read this.
> 
> 1\. First of all, I apologise for the delay in posting this chapter but apart from indulging myself in my other stories and the issue with the document manager, there was a very legitimate reason behind the delay as well. Please allow me to explain.  
This particular segment was supposed to come quite a bit later in the story. I wrote it about three-four months before I started posting chapters here. But as I started posting something about the timeline seemed off.  
Now that I was changing it(as it had to come well into the story), I had to completely redo how I portrayed the events and/or the characters here. Their lives, emotions are somewhat different than what they would have been in my original plan. For example, Harry is yet to come out of a mindset where he realises that he is not a general of a small militia trying to resist a tyrannical ruler anymore and as such need for over the top actions is not required…for now.  
And to be blunt, I was having a lot of trouble emulating the emotions Hermione would be going through as a result of her circumstances now. I don’t do female characters that well but I realised I needed to improve upon it if I were to become a versatile writer.  
I would love to tell you that I spent the last month and a half undercover as a woman to traverse the labyrinth that is their psyche, but that would be a lie. What I did though was have extensive discussions my cousin, who is a psychologist, regarding what a person in Hermione’s state might be feeling and how she might respond in further situations I will be putting her character in. I wish to thank you all for your patience. 
> 
> 2\. After doing a bit more research on the world-wide trade among wizarding communities I have decided to alter the total stolen amount from Francis’ cache to 40 million pounds. And a quarter of it which Harry had deposited into Gringotts is now Three million galleons.  
Similarly for the reference, I have also altered the example of St. Mungos donation to half a million galleon for a noble house.  
Apologies for the change and if it takes a bit of immersiveness from the story but I realised there weren’t that many known wizarding conclaves and I want to portray the total wizarding population of the world to be less than a million so even with the trade between them and some of the conclaves not using Gringotts galleons as currency it would be impossible for the value of Galleons to be this low.  
It was gold, pure mined goblin gold. It had to be way more valuable than Pounds.


	13. Of Choices and Prophets - part -3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _

Glen Coe, Lochaber. Otherwise known among the distant residents as the Bloody Glen. Covered by the mountains on either side, it reached almost an alpine-like grandeur. Its secludedness meant that even the most strictest of naturalists could not fail to be impressed.

It was one of the most beautiful places in Scotland.

But the glen has a notorious history too – it was here that 38 MacDonalds – including women and children – were massacred by their _guests_, on the orders of King William the first.

Butchered senselessly for the crime of being the lone family of witches and wizards living in the moor, helping their fellow humans when the plague hit.

A lot of blood had been spilt here and echoes still lingered, but it was notoriously hard to pin anything down. As a result, the place carried a distinct flow of magic in the air. One that many wizards since then had tried and failed to cleanse even after nine centuries had gone by.

It was also the place where he had taken his vows to forever love his beloved till his last breath left his body. The place where Hermione had accepted him, completely, with all his flaws and demons.

'…_the place where she ceased being just herself and became something more…'_

She became a part of him. His wife. The one he had vowed to protect with his very life. The very promise he was here to keep.

Harry stood on the edge of one of the cliffs in the glen, looking at the camp below.

It was exactly two hours ago that he'd had his clash against the blonde woman and thirty since he had left The Rookery after visiting Pandora Lovegood and sending Sirius a Messenger Patronus to meet him at the cottage after midnight.

These so-called Prophets had wrecked more than a few of his plans tonight. And some of them had been crucial as they involved contact with those he had no intention of ever going near…ever.

He had long before decided to limit the people in the know. It had been one of the few rigid parameters that he had agreed to follow in his hair-brained scheme.

Lovegoods hadn't been on the list. But not become he didn't trust them. It was rather the very opposite reason that he'd decided not to ask for their support in what was to become a very dangerous undertaking.

Luna had done more against the regime of Emperor Voldemort than many of the witches and wizards combined. And that included dozens of those who had lost their lives as spies within the forces that enforced the megalomaniac's laws.

She had sacrificed her _everything_ just so the few remnants of the Resistance could have a chance to escape when the Hands of Emperor had cornered them in Dunedin.

His eyes still remembered her body, what little of it had remained. He would never forget what she had done for them…for him.

And so, he had sworn to himself that he would not involve her in his crusade if he successfully arrived back home, and by extension, her parents. She hadn't had the love of both of her parents in later years of her life and he had no intentions of being the one who took that away from her.

She had suffered much in death, he didn't have the strength to ask her for more.

And tonight…he had broken that oath.

It didn't matter that it was fear that had taken him to her mother's doorsteps. It didn't matter that it was his crippling terror of losing the woman he loved that had bent him.

He had still done it.

He had failed Luna…Again.

The night sky rumbled as the lightning in the clouds speared his thoughts with a thunderclap.

There were movements little ways down in the valley.

The oil lit lanterns were visible even from this distance as their fire wavered by the heavy winds swaying the fabric of the tents.

It was clear to him that this was a hastily put together setup. The tents were held together by thin wooden beams dug shallowly in the ground. Harry could see some people moving in and out of the flaps from the smaller shelters hollering to the two sentries on the far side of the camp.

'_Sodding bastards.'_

His blood boiled at the sight of the mark that he could see glowing on their arms even from his vantage point this far back.

The so-called Prophets of fate had ravaged the world with their mere presence when the Resistance had been at its last legs. There weren't many of them left anymore. And after years of brutality, there hadn't been a single soul alive apart from their motley crew who dared to raise their voice against the fiendish monstrosities that the Emperor and his Hand committed on a daily basis.

But even then, Voldemort had known he wasn't yet ready for the muggles.

And the Prophets had taken advantage of the silence.

Whispering doubts in the ears of those who had the power to sway the people at large, they had wrought wars where bonds of friendships had once sewn. Out of nowhere, floods of people with glowing marks of _Ankh _had ravaged the nations and no one, not even the witches and wizards had been able to stop them.

In it's truest sense, the end had begun then.

The Last Muggle War of 2012.

Blood-curdling screams of his people echoed in his ears as the littered bodies of dead witches and wizards flashed before his eyes and he squeezed them shut, unable to keep his fingers from gouging his palms with blood.

The pain brought clarity once more.

He couldn't fall apart now. Hermione was counting on him. He had to save her!

Wrenching his mind back to the present he focussed on the problem at hand. He was mere inches from where the ward ended. He had already analysed it and found it to be a basic alert ward with an anti-apparition and portkey elements tied to a single ward-stone sitting somewhere in the middle of the camp.

It was a very crude method of preventing entry for people who weren't wanted and after prodding it gently, he was sure he could shatter the ward without breaking a sweat.

Warding 101 - The farther the warding stone from the edge, the weaker the ward. There were exceptions of course, but none of them were relevant in the present case.

And that wasn't even the problem. Even if he did break the ward and apparated with sight into the camp, there was no telling what the sick fucks would do to Hermione if they caught sight of him.

For all he knew, they could have a knife to her throat this very instant.

The blond harridan might have taken Hermione to hurt him but knowing the fanatic cultists as he did, he knew, they wouldn't do it without some sort of ceremony to _offer_ the sacrifice to the queen bitch.

Seeing him might make them haste the process.

He stopped himself before he went down that road. He was here. Hermione was alive. He could _feel _it in his bones. He **would **save her.

But it didn't change the fact that he didn't know her _exact_ location.

It was precisely this reason why he had put a charm on the bracelet that she regularly wore on her wrist, so he could get to her if something untoward happened.

But now, sitting outside the ward, he could only tell that she was somewhere down to his right.

A step further and he would be able to tell where she was but then the one who had set up the ward would also know that it had been broken.

The Prophets had at least one magical working with them. Maybe more.

He couldn't take that chance.

There was only one way to move forward without letting the fuckers know he was coming.

Harry dove his hand into the beaded on his waist and searched for one of the things he had picked up before coming here in the glen.

His hand touched some rough textures grouped huddled together with sharp edges and scooped them out with his small hands.

_Ward Cutters._

During the war, after countless casualties, it had become somewhat of a necessity for the Resistance to find some way to enter warded areas without alerting the parties within.

Having seen his mother's lifeless body after a raid conducted by Death Eaters, Seamus Finnegan was never the same. The day after her funeral, he had joined the efforts against the regime. With his proclivity towards pyrotechnics, he had been a tremendous help to Justin who supplied the Resistance with explosives to even the advantage the Death Eaters had gained after conquering more than half of the Isles.

But where he truly shined at, was breaking wards.

None of them knew how he did it, but he could identify the type of ward in minutes of seeing it and could create a passage within them without tripping a single alert charm tied to it.

And it had saved hundreds of lives of their people.

Ward Cutters were Seamus' greatest creations.

They could leech off of the magic of the ward at a specific point as though cutting it with laser concentrated foci.

The downside was, the magic being leeched off had to be compensated by someone. And the stronger the ward, the more magic it needed from the wizard to balance the reaction.

Harry set up the _cutters _along the ward perimeter in an arc, knowing the weak ward would be nothing for him to handle.

When the last stone was placed, he flicked his still sore right arm and his wand jumped into his hand.

Placing a basic ward around him to at least give him a warning in case of an ambush while he was focusing on dropping the section of the ward, he took a deep breath.

'_I'm coming 'Mione.'_

His wand touched the stones one after another and he intoned the spell to trigger them. Apart from a small sensation of his magic pouring into the stones, he barely felt any difference.

The cutters glowed with a blue light as the runes on them flared with magic as they began to seep the magic of the ward within them even as they took his own to keep the balance.

Half a minute passed before he felt the change.

There was an opening in the ward. It was small, but it was there!

With renewed effort, he continued to throw his magic in dribbles into the stones, forcing them to increase their _suction_.

With a whoosh of displaced air, the ward opening stuck, now big enough for him to enter.

Harry flicked his wand and the runes on the stones started pulsing. He had half an hour, max. The stones wouldn't hold out longer than that without him supplying his own magic.

But that was more than enough.

There wouldn't be a single soul alive in the camp apart from him and his lady tonight.

Mindful of the _edges_ of the opening, Harry took a step within the warded area, knowing full well, his hands would be blooded once more before he had her safe in his arms.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Did you check the area?" she asked with a pointed glare.

"Um…Yeah. It's clear. Are you…I mean…How can you be sure he'll come?" the frightened boy asked.

Her first thought was to punish him for daring to doubt the plan _she_, the great mother's speaker, had come up with. He was no different than the man she was hunting. He too didn't have a single shred of faith in her mistress' plan. He too used _magic_ to rip apart the reality as nature intended it. She abhorred his kind with a passion. Every time she looked at the mark on her forearm she was grateful that her mistress had opened her eyes to _see_ the truth and its place in the great plan. And because of that truth, she knew the wizardkind were nothing but a hindrance to what should have already come to pass.

But before she could raise her hand to strike him down a thought reminded of her duty. She needed him for a little while longer. His presence was a necessity until _the_ _defiler_ arrived.

The great mother had told her about the capabilities of the heathen the last time she had visited her dreams. She had cautioned her to not rely on her gifts to overpower him. He was stronger and craftier than most and would not be easy to pin down.

She had taken the advice as _the_ _word_.

Hence she had created an elaborate plan to use one of his kind to create a barrier so as to give a pretence that the only thing between him and his beloved were those flimsy protections.

Even if he sensed the presence of another magic user in their midst and somehow got within the camp without her knowledge, he would still not know the entirety of what she had in store for him.

So when she looked at the boy fumbling his words to form an apology for the insult, she contained herself with a mere glare to show her displeasure at his remark.

It was more than enough to make his scurry away like the little vermin he was. "I…I'll just check them again…"

No matter what the heathen tried, his fall, tonight, was eminent.

The great mother had said as much and if there was one thing that the Prophets believed in…The great mother's will be done.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Knowing that he was up against the fuckers who relied on slivers of magic from the queen bitch herself, he had clamped down his occlumency shields to their tightest the moment he entered inside. He knew most of them were capable of sensing others in their vicinity and he wanted to stay unnoticed for as long as he could.

Once he had hidden his thoughts and presence, it was surprisingly easy to get inside the camp they had risen on the edge of the smaller cliff. For one, the sentries stationed outside had no magical presence whatsoever and a single piercing hex to the back of their skull had them lying down on the mossy grass, dead. And for another, their numbers were just shy of two dozens that he had seen during his reconnaissance.

Transfiguring the bodies into long wooden stumps, he banished them from the edge of the cliff. The animals in the valley would have a decent meal in the morning when they reverted back.

A quick but silent jog had him near the entrance of the first tent, the one nearest to the edge. There were only three people inside, talking in a language he didn't recognise.

"…tuko hapa kumaliza kazi ambayo mama mkubwa alitupa…"

What in the merlin's name was _that_? _Afrikaans_?

The only word he recognised was 'mama' but it was enough for him to realise that they were probably talking about Atropos.

He paused for a second. Thinking about his next step.

The attack had been all very sudden and if he was being completely honest with himself he wasn't really prepared to handle a Prophet uprising. Yet.

But with how sloppy the fanatics had been tonight, _they_ weren't what worried him right now. No, it was the wizard who had cast the ward he was concerned about. It didn't matter that the ward was as weak as a fifth year's when there was a wand out there that could end him with one lucky cast.

Leading a small army and fighting for his life for years on end had brought him a long ways from the bumbling kid who used to charge into the danger without a second thought to the consequences.

It had been a long road and he had lost many friends along the way, but the lesson had finally sunk in.

He needed intel. And for that some of these sodding arseholes needed to live, no matter how much his stomach turned to not curse the shit out of them right here.

Pursing his lips, he moved. He'd have to do it. He'd have to take them alive.

The three were standing inside the tent in such a way that two had their backs turned to him and only one, with dark skin and bald head, was looking his way. He slithered inside and hid behind an empty carton, his small stature finally giving him some advantage.

Without taking a peek, Harry waved his wand in a convoluted pattern only he could understand and aimed his wand in the general area of the three Prophets. An invisible orb of magic shot out of his wand as the _anchoring_ _charm_ hit the centre of their party.

Before the bald men could open his mouth to warn his companions, Harry struck.

A hard flick of his wand and a red jet of light hit the man on the left and he slumped to the ground, unconscious and Harry was already moving towards his other target.

Another quick shot, this time onto the ground near where he had cast the anchoring charm and a wanded silencing ward encompassed the room, muffling all the sounds in the room instantly.

It was a trick he had learned in the middling years of the war. During the raids they had done, they didn't have the skill or the time or even the specialists who could cast wards around the room _and _attack or defend at the same time.

The necessity had definitely been the mother of invention as after losing his whole squad after being pinned down in an ambush, one of the old Master Auror had created the anchoring charm to avoid having to stand still and wave the wand in intricate patterns to erect the wand based wards.

The idea was to create a ward specific anchor that had all the arithemantic sequences of the ward but not the trigger itself. Once cast, it would act as a sort of a spell _magnet_ and would _catch_ the trigger spell if cast in its vicinity.

The Master Auror had created more than a dozen types of anchoring charms that could be used for different types of wards. But nearly all of them could be cast without facing the directions where the ward was to be placed. It was an acquired skill, but a very useful one.

Though Harry had shown his own ingenuity when he had successfully altered its spell cast to be invisible. None but few like him, those who had an astounding control of their magic could even begin to attempt the feat.

A split second later a _lumos_ illuminated the tent and the man facing him cried out in alarm before he too fell to the ground, unmoving, courtesy of another stunner.

The last person had been smarter than many Harry had faced over the years. At the first sign of trouble, she hadn't waited a second before bolting towards the opposite entrance of the small camp.

Harry jerked his wand towards his right and slashed it downwards as water erupted out of his foci and pushed the fleeing woman on to the ground. Flash, the water turned to ice, freezing the woman on the ground on her back.

Realising that she was caught, the woman did the only thing she could to save herself. Swiping her hand on an especially pointed icicle above her chest, she attempted to bathe the mark of her mistress with her blood to channel the magic through it.

Attempted, because the earth beneath her gave out before her hand had even left the icicle as blood dripped down on to the ice that froze her from chest to toes.

Just as her eyes met his own, the dripping blood on her chest rose above her and turned into a hissing and spitting red snake as it dripped venom on her chest, wrapping itself around her neck to choke her with all its strength.

"Ack…Ackh…Please…Stop…Ack. Ackh…" she pleaded in a very thick accent, giving some credence to his theory of the three stooges being from the southern continent.

"Really? Your people once killed millions in her name and you're the best she could find?" Harry taunted.

"…Please…don't…do…this…"

"Alright. Riddle me this then. Where is she keeping the girl?"

"I…I…Ack…don't know."

"Oh. Okay. I'll just leave you here with my buddy Mr snake then." Harry said rotating his wand clockwise in the woman's direction.

The snake hovering over the woman turned towards her in a quick snap and with a lunge, forced itself down her open mouth into her throat.

"AHHHUGHH…ACKH…AGHNGHGH…"

In the tent, Harry came out of her mind and moved passed the convulsing body of the black woman he had just semi-lobotomised with his _mental_ _illusion_ and levitated her two unconscious Prophet brothers to join her frozen self. The mind was a powerful tool, one only needed to know the right places to push, and the rest it did on its own.

The cultist hadn't really known where the blonde bitch was keeping Hermione anyway. He had checked her mind before deciding to busy her with the _visions_ of Mr snake.

The sight of her twitching body had given him more questions than he cared to admit, however.

These fuckers weren't even immune to the illusions there predecessors could see through a mile away. What the hell was happening? And come to think of it, besides the blonde woman, none of these people seemed to have a strong connection with Atropos if their magical presence was any indication.

They were poor imitations of what monsters the Prophets had been in his future-past.

Counting it as something to think about later, he tore a long section off from the fabric from the tent and transfigured it into a sturdy, thick rope. Tieing the bastards as tightly as he could. Looking outside once to make sure that none had seen him take down three of their people, he tapped his wand on the rope and muttered, **"Portus."**

There was a blue swirl of magic in the air and the three bound cultists were on there way to the basement of Kent cottage. And after once renewing the disillusionment charm on himself once more, he was already moving to clear out the next tent.

If all the sods working for the queen bitch were this easy, he would have his girl by the end of the hour.

After three more tents and seven more prisoners, none of them had any idea where their _leader_ had kept Hermione, Harry decided to move further inside. Casting the mage sight charm on himself he took a brief look around the area that was visible.

There were four magical signatures, possibly more cultists with the eerily glowing marks on their forearms moving around the last tent in a way that could loosely be called a patrol. Good. It told him more than a few things and confirmed some others.

First. Hermione was most likely inside the biggest camp rather than the smaller one which possibly inhabited a couple of more fanatics.

Second. Either the queen bitch had _woken _them up quite recently, probably after his jaunt back in time, or she really had chosen morons.

Knowing Atropos a little as he did, he knew that though she might be manipulating these poor bastards, she was a grade-A narcissist who would never let her mark touch those she deemed '_unworthy' _if she could help it.

Unless of course, she _couldn't _help it.

The way his thoughts were going made him pause in his steps for a moment. It fit rather well with everything he had seen until now, but he dreaded to think if it could be true.

**She **had told him that it was her preview to keep the balance. That it was she who kept beings like Atropos in check so they couldn't affect the one gift that humanity had been given.

The freedom of choice.

And since he had _**broken**_ her _**bindings**_before he had come back in time,she should have stoppedAtropos before all this came to head. Atropos should never have been able to wake the ruddy menaces in the first place!

A stray corner of his mind whispered something that he was keeping himself from admitting, however.

'_What if __**she**__ was bound again? It had happened once, didn't it? Who's to say that she isn't just as impotent as she had been when he had first met her?'_

A spurt of fear caught hold of him as that thought registered in his mind.

'_No! It couldn't have happened. Atropos is nothing compared to __**her…**__ But then how?'_

Shaking his head to clear the errant thoughts, he reminded himself of what was important right now.

Hermione.

Harry stopped beside a flap that led to the main area within and flared his senses to check for any obvious traps hidden in or around the entrance. Finding none, he tapped the wand on his head and the familiar feeling of broken egg spread through him. Now disillusioned, he crept along the wall of the tent towards the only other opening he could see.

Fifty meters.

A patrol of two Prophets went by outside the tent, their shadowy forms stilling him for a moment before he continued his trek ahead.

Thirty meters.

Another couple of sentries, a man and a woman turned towards the opening he had just come through and Harry sped up.

Ten meters.

"_I…I'll just check them again…"_

Harry stopped in his tracks.

Someone was coming.

He hid behind the lone pillar of wood that held part of the weight of the heavy fabric above and waited for the owner of the voice to come out.

The moment the man, for it definitely was a man, exited the frame, Harry coiled.

It was the wizard!

The core in his body visible through his mage sight was enough proof of that. And given that he could sense his magical presence thrumming within him, Harry was sure that he was at the very least, near his magical maturity.

He tapped the wand to his temple and his vision returned to normal instead of the miasmic plethora of colours it had been with the mage sight on.

The man, boy – he corrected himself, was not familiar at all. Not that he knew every magical on the isles. But even then, with his presence here, it was likely that he was in contact with some unsavoury elements of their society, even discounting his present allegiance. And thus, should have at least been on his radar, past or present.

Now, half a distance away for the exit, just as Harry was on the move, the boy turned back and saw the air shimmer right behind him.

Harry reacted with the reflexes honed by countless close encounters. The first spell was out of his lips before the boy had time to reach for his wand hidden in his robe.

The boy's eyes widened as the muddy green jet of light hit him squarely in the face and he screamed out of reflex than anything else.

Harry looked on as not a peep came out of his open mouth as the silencing charm did as intended. With swift steps, he closed the distance and stunned the bastard who had helped the vermin kidnap his love.

"**Mobilicorpus," **Harry whispered into the air and levitated the stunned body of the wizard outside the main tent and into one of the smaller one he had cleared some moments ago.

He knew he didn't have time to coax the boy into answering so he fell back to his usual modus operandi.

Intimidation.

With a wave and flick, the familiar black shadows covered him whole as he sent the spell to awaken the fool.

"Wha…What happened?" the boy asked groggily.

Harry didn't give him time to recover. S

"**Legilimens!"**

* * *

"…_You could be the great wizard to ever live, Marvin…" her ruby red lips whispered into his ears and her body continued to move above him, pleasuring him in ways he had never thought possible._

"…_H…How?" Marvin slurred as though drugged by her beauty._

"…_Not now, my love. Tonight, it's just you and me…"_

_Her chest connects with his own as their sweat mixed between their flesh. She moved to kiss his neck as he moaned in pleasure._

"…_I will do anything for you, Katheryn…"_

* * *

"_I didn't sign up for this!" he cried frightened beyond belief._

"_You bound yourself to me, foolish boy. You gave yourself into the service of the great mother the moment you gave your consent," she snarled at him. "Do what is asked of you less you end up like him." She threatened to point at the body of a man lain down on the grass as the vermin ate his flesh._

_Marvin looked at the corpse, horrified._

"_He too thought he was above doing as the mistress commanded. You can see what he ended up becoming." Katheryn continued, cleaning the bloody knife in her hand with her robes._

_He looked at her cold blue eyes and did the only thing he could to get himself out of the mess he'd gotten in._

_He agreed._

* * *

Harry came out of his mind with half of his lungs demanding air.

The boy – Marvin, had been chosen by the blonde woman. Specifically. He had no idea why but the woman had enticed him to make a fucking bond of all things to force him to stay.

It wasn't good. Not good at all.

He hadn't thought her capable of this much before. But it was clear now the woman had been planning this for a long time. Probably since the day he had come back.

Marvin didn't know much but he had heard enough to make him realise that this Katheryn bitch was planning on offering his Hermione to Atropos when the moon was at its peak tonight.

"**Tempus."**

The numbers eleven and fifty floated above his eyes and he cursed.

While it wasn't always the case, the moon was said to be at its peak generally during the twelfth hour of the night.

Harry turned and looked at the now drooling boy and stifled the urge to break his neck.

The boy had sold himself for a ruddy shag.

A shag!

Knowing he was out of options, for the time being, he stunned the disoriented teen and conjured a rope to tie around him and similar to the other tonight sent him back to the basement with a portkey.

The kid will rue the day he had given in to his primal urges without knowing what he was getting in when Harry was done with him.

But for now, he had to kick the snot of a blonde harridan named Katheryn and get back his girl.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"He's here," she murmured as soon as the connection she had with the boy lessened.

There was a flurry of activity at her words as her brothers and sisters started moving to their places to start the ceremony.

Katheryn Karmoth stood silent as she watched them prepare Theïkóplo for what was sure to be her last act in this world.

The little girl had stopped struggling once the great mother's mark had fully subjugated her will. She was sure, that the old spirit was still alive in the vessel, however. One but only had to look in her eyes. It spoke of the conflict that woman inside was having with her mistress.

It didn't bother her much.

Mistress would not let the heathen get away.

The first of the chants broke her from her reverie as Sister Maria started the ritual.

"…_emeís oi profítes tou manteíou ton delfón dínoume ton eaftó tis se aftín…"_

A dark smirk formed on her ruby lips. _'Come, heathen…Your end awaits…'_

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry bolted back into the large tent he had just come from with all the strength his short legs could muster.

The entrance was just as open as before, but the patrolling Prophets had taken post on either side of it since he had gone.

There was no time to play it quiet anymore.

His hands tightened on the shaft of his wand and with his magic burning inside him, he struck.

"**BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"**

A great explosion of earth, stone and people shattered the entrance as the two of the five pillars holding the camp gave way.

Without a pause, Harry ran through the debris and slashed his wand to make a cut on one walled side of the tent.

He could hear chanting now. Echoing words of power creating a small magical surge in the area as they escaped his enemies' lips.

A single step inside and he knew he was just in time to interrupt something major as the magic buildup reached a crescendo.

"**Decrusto!"**

The crimson spell shot out of his wand and struck the altar right in the middle, disintegrating it into dust just as the Prophets surrounding it dove to the side to hide behind the stone pillars.

"STOP HIM!" came the shout from the one he'd come to hunt and he dodged a flaming ball coming right at him.

"Gotta do better than that, bitch!" he taunted even as he moved to a cover.

For a brief moment, his eyes caught sight of her glassy brown ones and relief flooded through his being to see her alive. He'd save her from these sick fucks if it's the last thing he did tonight.

"**ACCIO HERM…"**

Another ball of fire hurled itself towards his direction and hit the stone he was using as cover before he could finish the spell.

"You won't get her as easily, defiler!"

Cursing, but seizing the chance, he dove away from the cover in a roll and threw another curse at the fire on the other side of the alter. **'Expulso.'**

A burst of blue light flared and three Prophets hiding right beside the disintegrated altered were blasted apart by the immense explosion right at their feet.

"AHHHHH…"

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THEIR LIVES WITH HER BLOOD, HEATHEN!" shouted Katheryn as she saw her brothers get ripped apart by his magic.

"**DIFFINDO!"**

A sickening crack ripped the air as the spell hit the Prophet standing right beside Katheryn collapsed as his face split into two.

"You won't be able to touch a single hair on her head, Katheryn. I will end this tonight." Harry shot back even as he was forced to move from his spot by the fiery flames he got in return.

Harry spied from behind the last possible cover in the area that only a single Prophet had left beside Katheryn herself and he was holding Hermione's dangerously still form as if his life depended on it.

Pushing aside his worry at her state, he focused on the situation at hand. He knew with Hermione so close to the man, he wouldn't be able to cast a single spell even if he tried.

Ducking once more, he focused his magic.

'_**Lumen Vergo.'**_

Light on either side of him bent against his form and hid him beneath its covers rendering him completely invisible without a shimmer in place.

Silencing his feet, he stood up and silently walked towards Katheryn's back.

She was looking around as her eyes darted every which way for a sign of him. He knew she couldn't sense him or his magic unless he channelled it into a spell having noticed her throwing fireballs at him only when he built up his magic to cast a spell of his own.

But he had underestimated her cunning.

He walked through the barrier around the alter she had formed by borrowing her mistress' power and she jerked in his direction at once.

Lightning burst from between her fingers and travelled towards him matching the speed of every spell he had cast tonight.

Harry's eyes widened for a split second before he hastily formed a shield at his front. _**'Protego Duo!'**_

The powerful arcs of lightning hit the green barrier with a shrieking sound just as Harry became visible behind it, having lost his focus during the onslaught.

With a force she wasn't expecting, the deadly arcs of electric currents reflected from Harry's shield and hit her squarely in the chest as she blasted her away from the altar.

"AAAAGHHHHHH…."

It was rare that he enjoyed someone's discomfort and rarer still if that discomfort included him maiming a person with a serious jolt of crispy arcs. But her screams as Katheryn traversed through the air and hit the ground was like music to his ears.

A sigh escaped his lips as he watched her smoking, unmoving body. Before he could turn to the last arsehole who had his hold on his girl, a shout from said arsehole broke his moment of peace.

"STAY BACK!" the bald black man all but screamed. "STAY BACK OR SHE DIES!" His shaking hand held a small knife to Hermione's neck as he threatened him more in fear than need.

"Alright," Harry said as calmly as he could. "I am right here. Not gonna move an inch."

"That's right. If you do, I'll paint this valley with her blood, you nullifidian!" he shot back, his voice a bit manic.

"Easy there! Nobody's hurtin' anybody. Isn't that right?" Harry said moving his wand hand behind his back and flicking his wand in three successive jerks.

"JUST STAY BACK!"

"I'm right here buddy. Raaiiight here."

Another flick and the stone shaft sitting a little behind the manic Prophet transfigured into a very rough shape of a spear.

"Look at me, Hermione. Listen to my voice. I won't let anything happen to you sweetheart," Harry said in a soft voice, trying to coax the girl out of the shock she had gotten herself in.

Hermione remained silent even if her eyes gained a bit more sharpness.

Turning to the man, Harry asked in the same calm voice, more to gain time than anything else. "What's your name?"

"We are all children of the great mother, you heathen! Our names are sacred. Not to be uttered in the presence of unbelievers," the man spat as though reciting the snap response from memory.

"That's…" Harry paused, now ready with what he had planned, "…well, unfortunate. I'd have liked to know your name before I killed you."

"Wha…*thunk*" The man's words died in his mouth as the stone spear impaled him from behind right below his brain stem, ending his life in one smooth motion.

Before the man could topple over and fall to the ground, Harry was there, beside Hermione, holding her still as she threatened to fall herself.

"Hermione! 'Mione!"

She stood there, still, leaning on him as everything in her stopped reacting to the external stimuli.

"Come on love. Snap out of it…Please…" he begged, tears prickling his eyes.

Receiving no response from her or her magic, he settled her on the ground and waved his wand towards her for the standard diagnostic.

"Trauma to the back of the head…shock…swelling in the cerebral chamber…neuro response to sudden information overload?" he whispered confusedly as the results of the charm showed him everything Hermione was going through.

'_There's nothing for it. I'd have to force her body to sleep before it can heal itself.'_

He cast the mending charm on her head and the swelling receded in an instant as the blood vanished from her brown curls.

Before he could cast another healing spell, his instincts screamed at him to move and he ducked and dove aside just a jet of purple flames shot over the exact place his head had occupied a moment before.

"DIE YOU BASTARD!" screamed a burned Katheryn as jets of fire erupted from both her hands, the glowing mark of her arm shining the brightest ever.

The fury he had suppressed in favour of saving his beloved came back with a vengeance. Taking one last glance at the still shallowly breathing body of his wife, he stood up, wand in hand.

"You like to play with fire, don't you?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

"Let me show you how to play, little girl."

"**IGNIS FLAGELLO!"**

A twenty feet long barbed whip made of smouldering red fire shot out of the end of his wand as he waved it above his head to burn the very air with its presence.

Once. Twice. Three times he flicked his wand and the pillars surrounding the now terrified looking Katheryn melted right before her wide eyes.

"Tell your mistress, I am coming for her next."

With that, he brought around the scourge of fire and pointed it at her in one quick motion.

Her body injured by the lightning and with the arc of the whip astoundingly wide, Katheryn never stood a chance.

The fiery lash bisected her in the middle, cauterising her innards just as it moved past her flesh like it was nothing.

To her credit, not a single scream left her throat even as he ended the spell with a flick of his wrist.

Her lower half toppled to the ground just as a gurgling whisper left her hauntingly smiling lips.

"Tell…her…yourself."

Before he could give more than a single thought to the remark, a sharp pain erupted in his side as a small but firm hand on his wrist stopped any retaliation from his wand.

"AGHH…" he grunted as the sharp object embedded within his side turned as the person holding it twisted it.

On reflex, he broke the hold on himself partially and turned around with a jerk, knocking his wand out of his hands as it cluttered on the ground beside him.

Horror filled him as he laid eyes on the person who had attacked him.

"**We meet again, Harry Potter!"**

Before his wide-open eyes stood Hermione, with her brown eyes now shining with an ethereal golden light just as the mark on her forearm surged awake.

"**Surprised?"**

Every single thought escaped his mind as his mind attempted to accept what it had seen.

"**Hehehe…" **Atropos giggled, having taken control of Hermione's body to savour the moment. **"I told you once remember. You will not lose me so easily."**

A backhand struck his cheek as he stumbled on his feet clutching the profusely bleeding wound.

"**You thought you could cheat me…ME? Hehehehaaaa…" **she laughed a hungry, manic laugh as spittle from her mouth flew towards him. **"No one can cheat Fate, oh **_**Master of **__**Death**_**!"**

Theories and solutions spun in his mind as he tried and failed to understand what had happened just now.

"You…you're not…her." He denied. Not allowing himself to believe the little girl in the body was gone.

"**Oh, certainly not, silly boy…" **she chided.

"Wheh…where's Her…'mione?" he slurred as his vision grew dark.

"**Now that is the most interesting part…" **she breathed, walking towards him with slow deliberate steps. **"She's. Still. Here."**

Pain finally won the battle as Harry released a pained gasp despite not wishing to give the bitch the satisfaction. "AGHH…"

"**And not just the little girl you wished to save so much," **she said in a teasing voice. **"…your **_**wife**_** is here too…"**

Her words hit him like a thunderclap. Taking away the last remnants of strength in his legs as he fell to the ground in a heap.

"Hermione!" he cried with all his heart, hoping to reach her…to touch her…one last time.

She came near him in one smooth motion, unwillingly to not see the light in his eyes fade forever.

"**The weave will return to what it was always meant to be…" **she said softly, cupping his face, **"…My masterpiece."**

Harry's eyes threatened to close and he willed them open again. He was not willing to die tonight. Not now. Not when he knew that Hermione was still alive. **His** Hermione.

A beat pulsed within him as his life-blood continued to mar the grassy soil with its coppery essence.

Fate's words kept reverberating in his head as though playing on loop.

'_You will not lose me so easily…_ _No one can cheat Fate…Master of Death!...'_

'DEATH!'

His eyes shot open as he gulped the air hungrily for one last try.

"**Still trying to cling to life, eh?" **she mocked.

With a snap, he grabbed Hermione's hand from his face with an iron grip and in one swift motion swiped his own blood onto the very mark that Fate called her own and continue to pour it into the small incisions the mark had made on her flesh.

"**WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP! STOP!" **she shouted shrilly.

"She…is…MINE!" he screamed, matching her strength with last of his own.

"**NO!…AHHHHHHHHHHHHH…"**

A golden mist burst from Hermione's body and in a flash disappeared into the heavens, causing Hermione to topple over him like a puppet without strings.

With heaving breaths and dark circulating around his vision, he crawled towards his dropped wand leaving behind a trail of blood.

His hand caught the polished black wood and with continuously losing focus, he cast his last attempt to save them both.

With a death grip on Hermione's hand and another on the key in his robes, he whispered, **"Portus…Clavis…"**

-x-x-x-x-x-

A blue swirl of portkey inside the living room alerted Sirius that something was wrong. Harold never took portkey back home unless he couldn't help it.

The blood pouring from his wounded body, with his hands gripping a little girl, Harold said the words that Sirius would remember till the day he died.

"…save her…"

-x-x-x-x-x-

**~ Review please ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._
> 
> _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._
> 
> _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._
> 
> _Thank You._
> 
> _2\. Legend_
> 
> _• Theïkóplo – The vessel of Atropos.  
• The Fates – or Moirai – are a group of three weaving goddesses who assign individual destinies to mortals at birth. Their names are Clotho (the Spinner), Lachesis (the Alloter) and Atropos (the Inflexible)._

**Author's Note:**

> ** _A/N_ ** _ _ \- 1. The search for a cheap-ass domain is now over. I was finally able to get my hands on one. What does this mean for us, you ask?_ _
> 
> _ _Well... The website for all my stories and other writing pieces is now up and running._ _
> 
> _ _Please visit "www.neatStuff.in" (don't forget to add 'www' as my domain is yet to get an SSL certificate) for all the latest chapters that are posted there a day before. I have put a lot of effort into it. Hope you like it._ _
> 
> _ _And a reminder, the twitter feed is now Live, again. Follow the news at neatstuff5 on twitter. Read the latest updates on the edits, excerpts from the released and unreleased chapters and other tidbits that I will be posting._ _
> 
> _ _Thank You._ _


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